


The Year Without Easter

by Kayasurin



Series: The White Wolf [3]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Children lose belief, Jack has Anger Issues, LOTS of violence, M/M, Patricia Brigg's werewolves, Tiny Bunny, Violence against Fearlings, Werewolf Jack, self harm warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-03-22 15:12:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 70,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3733540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kayasurin/pseuds/Kayasurin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's 2012 and the "Guardian of Children" have demanded he join them. It's 2012 and Jack says no. It's 2012 and there's no Easter. Just a bunch of black-sand horses.</p><p>It's 2012 and something's up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There is a SELF-HARM warning up for this fic. Jack is not suicidal but he does tend to hurt himself, to a fairly severe extent. So PLEASE, if you are triggered by these things, PLEASE NOTE that this is a thing that happens.

Jack perched up on the power lines, glaring up at the moon. It was two days from full; two nights of freedom left, before his monthly suffering. Jack had learnt well to keep track of the moon’s state. More than once he’d traveled to see other parts of the world, only to find a full moon snuck up on him with no warning. The moon’s phase was usually fairly consistent across North America, coming maybe a day early or a date late from what he expected, depending on which coast he was on. Further afield, Europe and Russia and the like, well…

He didn’t travel much anymore.

Which was a shame. He enjoyed traveling. Seeing new things. New people. Learning new languages. It was one of the few pleasures to his… existence. He wouldn’t call this state a ‘life’. A life involved so much _more_ than what little he was able to steal, beg, and borrow.

And whose fault was it that he had been condemned to this? The moon! In that, he and his wolf were in complete agreement.

It was the moon that had woken them from that cave. It was the moon that put them through the monthly torment of trying to change, being unable to, transforming bits and pieces and back again over and over, as long as the moon was in the sky and the sun wasn’t. And it was the moon that sang of blood and death to the wolf, driving it mad on an all-too-regular basis.

Jack growled, feeling his wolf stirring beneath his skin. “Three hundred years,” he said, eyes aglow with old, thwarted rage. He’d only realized it was the anniversary that evening, catching sight of a discarded newspaper by chance. “Three hundred years,” he said again. His voice kept dipping into a lower register, a growl, and he kept dragging it back up. He was not an animal, to mumble and snarl his words.

“ _You_ did this to me! The _least_ you can do… is tell me _why_.”

Apart from its song, the moon was silent.

Jack huffed and looked away. What had he expected? Explanations? Apologies? Hah. The moon – if there was a person up there, they were ignoring Jack.

His staff, and the cables underfoot, iced over. Jack didn’t like being ignored, though he was used to it. Unfortunately.

He hated being ignored. There was nothing ruder, to his mind, then someone deliberately looking through him. The other spirits… they _could_ see him, they just didn’t _want_ to.

It was enough to make him consider letting his wolf go. The chaos, blood, and death that would follow _probably_ wouldn’t be worth it, though.

Jack huffed, and shook his head in a manner more akin to a dog shaking off water. Standing about brooding never got anything done; he’d have to put a few things by in preparation for the full moon. Like meat; he had to eat a lot of meat after a full moon, as much to heal as to regain the energy spent by a full night of aborted transformations.

As for the healing, well… skin tore, muscles tore, bones broke… the day after a full moon was usually spent flat on his back, eating when he was sure he could keep the food down, waiting in misery for the pain to stop.

He _hated_ the moon.

His lake was a hop, skip, and a jump across town; this part of Burgess actually formed a kind of bulge out into the woods. It was easier to cut across the rooftops than go around.

Jack hopped into the air, and let himself be whisked away from the cute little suburb and towards the other side and forest beyond.

A flash of gray blur caught his attention halfway across.

Jack dropped down on a light pole, both he and his wolf abruptly alert and wary. There weren’t too many spirits that hung around this area. Jack was a territorial bastard, he’d be the first to admit it, and his wolf wasn’t at all comfortable in other spirits hanging around. He was usually vulnerable when he was near his lake, after all.

So what was this? Not a cat or a bird; too big and too fast. Another spirit? Which one would ‘dare’ come here?

Well, it _was_ almost Easter, but the Easter Bunny didn’t usually poke his nose up above ground this close to.

So, not the Easter Bunny… something dangerous?

Jack’s wolf roused at that. He grinned, and hopped into the air again. A little misplaced aggression wouldn’t go amiss at the moment, this close to the full moon.

Besides, if he got to run off some kind of nasty spirit, it’d be fun.

The blur vanished into an alley. Jack hesitated, and then dropped down into the end of the alley, where he could put his back to the wall.

He looked around, senses on high alert. Nothing, wall, nothing, dumpster, noth-

“Hello mate. Been a long time.”

He jumped, and looked towards the mouth of the alley. Bunny stepped forward out of the shadows, and pointed a boomerang at him. “Easter Sunday, wasn’t it? ’68.”

“Bunny!” Jack smiled, charmed despite himself. “Are you still angry about that?” he asked, leaning sideways on his staff.

It wasn’t like he’d done anything _wrong_. Prior to 1868, he’d never heard of an ‘Easter Bunny’ – or Easter Hare as he’d been called at the time – or egg hunts or anything like that. He’d maybe sort of interrogated Bunny – after icing his feet to the ground and his hands to a tree – until he’d been assured that the overgrown rabbit’s intentions were entirely peaceful. Helpful, even.

Bunny never had forgiven him for that. Even if they hadn’t officially interacted after that – stalking didn’t count, though Bunny knew Jack was there, and Jack knew Bunny knew – it was clear that the rabbit was still annoyed.

He would never, _ever_ admit it to anyone, but that huffy anger wasn’t just charming… it was _cute_. His wolf just wanted to coo at Bunny, pet his ears, and feed him carrot cake.

“Yes,” Bunny snapped. _So cute_. “But I’m not here about that.”

“Huh?” Jack straightened up. So what…?

“Get him, boys.”

Jack spun, staff swinging up and around to smack into a –

The yeti grabbed tight to his staff, and yanked it out of his grip. Jack had half a second to feel utterly betrayed before another yeti slammed a sack over his head and scooped him up.

Jack snarled, and clawed at the thick fabric, but he wasn’t able to get a good handful. He was lifted up off his feet and thrown over a shoulder. There was some muffled talking, but he wasn’t paying close enough attention to get the words. He heard Bunny laugh; then there was an odd _chink-smash_ sound, a whooshing roar, and then –

And then the world dropped out from under him. It felt like he’d been picked up an extra inch, dropped back down, and given a hearty smack on the chest all at the same time.

Jack was then dropped for real when the yeti let him fall to the floor, still bundled in the sack.

He managed, finally, to get a good grip on the sack, and tore.

The fabric split in half with a satisfying ripping sound. He surged up onto his feet and snatched his staff away from the first yeti, who was staring at him in shock.

He looked around, and found himself surrounded by…

By…

Yeti. And elves. And over to one side, near a fireplace big enough to roast an ox in…

“The Big Four,” Jack said, shoving his instinctive desire to snarl and show his teeth to the back of his mind. “Wow, you’re all together. Someone must have messed up big time.”

“Jack Frost!” The big guy, who had to be Santa, spread his arms wide and laughed. “There you are!” Obviously. “The yeti treated you well?”

“Oh, I just love being shoved in a sack and tossed through a magic portal,” Jack said, with false enthusiasm.

“Oh, good.” Santa patted his stomach. “Was my idea.”

Really? Jack stopped smiling and glared at him. “I was being sarcastic,” he said, not quite growling.

“I – what?”

“ _Sarcastic_ ,” Jack said again, a bit louder and carefully enunciating. “The practice of using _sarcasm_ , which is itself a noun, meaning harsh or bitter derision or irony, and a sharply ironical taunt; sneering or cutting remark. If you’re having trouble hearing me, you might want to get your ears cleaned out.”

The bird-woman looked disappointed. Jack refused to feel hurt by that. The Sandman looked shocked, which was shading towards amused. And Bunny… Bunny was smirking.

Jack ignored the warm little feeling in his chest. _He’d_ made the Easter Bunny _smile_.

Okay. Smirk. _Details_.

Santa looked shocked. “But – but you said –“

“You don’t seriously think people actually _enjoy_ your Krampus impression, do you?” Jack asked with mock-disbelief. “It’s rude. And if you try that ever again on me, I’ll return your yeti… in pieces.”

He glared at that. He was a winter spirit, a werewolf – okay, he didn’t spread that one around – and had a responsibility for North America. There was no reason for them to treat him so… so shabbily.

Even if they were the Big Four.

Not that he was impressed by them. Most spirits weren’t.

“Told you,” Bunny muttered, nonchalantly studying his claws.

“I, ah…” Santa deflated a bit, but then regrouped. “Jack, surely you wonder why we bring you here.”

He rolled his eyes. “You need something and don’t know how to _ask_. Never mind _nicely_ , apparently you don’t know how to ask _at all_.”

They ignored him, with difficulty. Well, the Sandman winked at him. Jack grinned back. This was starting to be fun.

“Manny has chosen you to be Guardian!” And with that, Santa gestured madly, and Jack was suddenly assaulted by _light_ and _noise_ and _movement_ and those yeti had _torches_ –

Who had done what now? And how did he make these idiots stop? Jack cringed, and was astonished to see Santa not only marching in place, but enjoying himself. Something about ‘best part coming’ or…

“No,” Jack said, and slammed his staff down against the floorboards. A small gust of wind tore around the room, putting out torches and spreading his frost. “No music!”

They all paused and stared at him with varying levels of confusion – Santa, the bird-woman – and amusement – the Sandman and Bunny. Jack glared back.

“What makes you think I even _want_ to be a Guardian?” he asked. There were so, so many reasons not to, after all…

Santa laughed. “Of course you do,” he said, and gestured for the music again.

Jack’s temper boiled over.

He actually blacked out for a few seconds; one moment he’d been standing in the middle of the group, the next, he was inches away from Santa, the crook of his staff pressed tight under the man’s chin.

“What did you say?” he asked, sounding almost perky despite himself. “Was it, let me think… ‘of course you do’? Was that what you just said?” He grinned, making sure to show every tooth in his head. “I’m sure it wasn’t. No one would be that _rude_ , or _ignorant_ , or _disrespectful_. _Especially_ not one of the Four Hated.”

“The four what?” Bunny demanded, sounding cranky. Jack backed off from Santa a little, enough to glance over at the Easter Hare. The rabbit had a boomerang out, and was feeling the edge with one finger. “What’d you call us?”

“Not _me_ ,” Jack said. “The other spirits. You know, the ones you ignore?” He shoved away from Santa, and gave the man a disdainful look. “The Groundhog, the Leprechaun, the ones forgotten by humans… none of them like you.” He shrugged. “I can see why. There’s child spirits too, but they get overlooked a lot. And you four are all hermits. I bet you don’t even know any other spirits than each other.”

They all blinked at him, though the Sandman at least looked sad and understanding. The other three just looked confused, like he’d started speaking Klingon.

“Jack,” the bird-woman said. “I don’t think you understand just what we do –“

“What does that have to do with anything?” he asked. “You’re the Tooth Fairy, you trade baby teeth for coins. Easter Bunny puts out chocolate eggs for kids on Easter. Sandman gives kids good dreams. Santa teaches them commercialism at a young age. What does that have to do with the fact that you ignore the spirit children, ignore the adult spirits, and have been nothing but insulting to me?”

He looked around. The Sandman was actually looking shamefaced now. Bunny – he looked thoughtful? Jack blinked at him, surprised. He hadn’t thought Bunny would actually think about what he said. The others, though… he stifled a growl.

“You don’t like us,” Bunny said, looking like he was starting to figure it out.

“I don’t know you to like you or not,” Jack said. “Apart from you, Bunny, I haven’t talked to any of you before… ever. Despite trying.” He glowered at the closest yeti. “At least I wasn’t going to condemn you all based on the gossip I overheard. Actions, however…” He trailed off, and switched his glare to Santa. “Well, they speak louder than words. A lot louder. And _your_ actions…”

“Ah,” Santa said, looking shocked. Idiot. “Ah, but, but Manny said –“

“I don’t know who this Manny person is, and I don’t care. Never heard of him.”

“The – the Man in the Moon. Manny.”

Jack scowled. “Oh. There’s an actual person up there? I don’t care. He ignored me for three hundred years, despite my begging him – _begging_ – to talk to me. The rest of you seem to be too busy for other spirits, so at least your ignoring me wasn’t _personal_. Still.”

Jack looked around, fully aware that his eyes had gone dark red with his wolf and not caring a bit. “Whatever it is you want, the answer is no. _Never_. According to the gossips, you’re ever so proud of handling everything _alone_ , so…” He spread his hands. “As you wish. I’ll leave you _alone_.”

He turned and stalked towards the exterior wall, where there was a nice, big window letting out onto the arctic snow. The yeti and elves drew back, all except one.

“Phil,” Jack said, and inclined his head. “If you don’t move, I’ll make you.”

The head yeti grumbled, but shifted slightly. He’d already opened the window. Jack nodded properly this time, and stepped up onto the sill. Phil patted him on the shoulder, and then gave him a gentle shove.

Jack leapt out into the cold air, and let the wind whip him up and away. He made it one, maybe two glaciers away before it all fell apart.

He fell, landing hard on hands and knees, hard enough something in his right knee gave a pop and then he felt a horrible, burning, tearing sensation. His hands scraped over the rough ice and began to bleed.

It didn’t matter; pain and injury never lasted long. Jack punched the ice with one hand, and then he was slamming his fists and staff into the ice over and over, with all his strength. He didn’t even know _why_ – he was angry and hurt and sad and afraid and he wanted to scream his grief into the sky and roar his rage and if he could have set off a storm, he would have.

He didn’t even know _why_.

It hurt. It hurt. He didn’t know what – they ignored him, they wanted him for something, they hadn’t asked, the moon talked to them, they were a group and he was alone, alone, _alone_ …

He wore out his emotions on the ice, and collapsed, shaking in every limb. His hands were a red mess, bones broken and a few shards actually poking up through torn flesh. The ice was shattered in places, splinters here and powder there, spotted and marked with his blood just about everywhere.

Jack got slowly to his feet, everything aching and right knee refusing to support his weight. It didn’t matter. It would heal. Flying didn’t require working legs.

He just wanted to go home.

“Wind,” he called, and wiped away tears. “Wind, take me home.”

And the wind picked him up and carried him away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angry Jack is angry and happy to go on the attack. Is he completely right in what he's saying? No... but he's not entirely wrong, either.


	2. Chapter 2

Aster didn’t know how he felt. Pissed off, oh yes. Nothing like having someone insult you, insult your friends, threaten you and your friends, and call you all a lot of useless gobdaws to get one’s hackles up.

On the other hand… Well. From that little rant, Jack Frost had his reasons to not like them. And he’d only responded with what they’d shown him. Disrespect. Contempt, even. Oh, sure, he was an annoying bugger, freezing pipes, messing with Aster’s egg hunts, stalking the Pooka no matter what tricks he pulled… but that didn’t mean he was _bad_. It definitely didn’t mean they could just scoop him up and shove him into the role of Guardian.

And it really didn’t mean they could just strong arm him into the role when he didn’t have any believers.

Aster’s ears fell down at that, not in a pose of contentment but more like dismay. Jack Frost didn’t have _any_ believers, not one; having his name tossed about now and then didn’t mean anyone believed in him. A Guardian without believers was dead.

Oh, if he’d had a minute more to argue with Jack, if the spirit hadn’t gotten the bit between his teeth and gone off with it, he probably would’ve pulled that painful truth out, he knew himself well enough to know that. Jack was invisible, with no one to care about him. It would’ve hurt Jack to hear it, but who knew, it might’ve gotten his friends’ attention and they would’ve realized the secret reason why it was such a bad idea.

They didn’t tell too many people why belief was so important to them. Too dangerous.

He snorted. Funny how the other spirits called them standoffish when, couple centuries before, overtures of friendship were slapped away. Child-spirits had told Aster to take his eggs elsewhere; they didn’t lose teeth so there wasn’t anything Tooth could do for them, and Sandy gave everyone good dreams regardless of age or belief, but he thought they’d told North off for trying to ‘force a holiday of the White Christ’ upon them.

The adult spirits had been less polite.

That’d been, what, four, five centuries ago? Before Jack, he thought. Stories of Jack Frost, as compared to Jokul Frosti or what have you, weren’t too old.

He shook his head. Nice of the other spirits to twist the stories they told, so ostracized became standoffish, busy became haughty, and who knew what all else.

“I cannot believe _gall_ of that boy,” North huffed. “We were going to make him _Guardian_ and he says _we_ are _rude_? Bah! Manny, you have lost mind up there, Jack Frost is no Guardian.”

“He doesn’t have any believers,” Aster murmured. North didn’t seem to hear him. Tooth didn’t. She was directing her fairies for the moment. Sandy though, did, and he nodded at Aster.

Tooth gasped then, cutting North short in his rant. “There’s a problem,” she said, looking suddenly panicked. “At the – my fairies – I have to go!”

North turned to them. “Come, we must follow.”

* * *

The full moon came a day early.

Jack howled, shocked into giving voice to his pain. He fell out of the sky, hit a thick tree branch with his back, bounced off, and landed on a rock by the edge of his lake. As if that wasn’t bad enough, he started to change.

One hand began to crack and twist, fingers getting shorter, palm longer, thumb moving up towards his wrist – and then it stopped. Held that way for the count of five, and then began to go back to human.

Joints popped, tore, healed. Muscles stretched, tore, healed. Bones broke and healed, twisting and reshaping as they did.

His hearing got stronger, more acute, as his ears grew more pointed, more upright, more mobile. Then it got worse as they went back to human, so it felt like he was nearly deaf. He could taste blood, copper-metal and sweet on his tongue. It mixed with his spit and drooled down out of his mouth, as his jaw got too long, then too short, to match the rest of his face.

His sight switched, with seemingly every heartbeat, between human-colors and canine monochrome. Scent – oh, _scent_ –

Torture. The experience was torture. And he shouldn’t have felt it. Full moon was _tomorrow_. Not today.

Long, long experience had taught him how to keep his mind even through the worst of the pain and the wolf-rage as it was pulled forward, but never all the way. He was out in the open. He couldn’t stay out in the open. Animals could see him. Other spirits could see him. They wouldn’t be nice if they found him like this.

Jack pushed himself up onto hands that kept changing shape, and knees that kept twisting and popping. He had to fly. He couldn’t leave a trail. They could follow a trail. So he had to fly.

“Wind,” he croaked, just as his throat cracked and his windpipe was crushed by the change.

He doubled over, choking and gasping, and clawed at his neck. The wind swept him up at that moment, carrying him away from the lakeshore and deeper into the woods. It dropped him – gently, but still – at the mouth of his little shelter.

Jack held still until his neck had healed enough for him to breathe. Then, groaning, he began to pull himself along the ground into the cave.

One whole arm burned and something tore, as the change took it further than anything before tonight. For several minutes he had a wolf’s paw on that side, and his shirt was nothing but ribbons from the shoulder down. Then, as he reached the end of the cave and rolled over onto his back, the paw started changing back to an arm, while his legs started to ache and cramp as the change began working on them.

It went on and on. Jack tore at his arms, his face, his chest, in a frenzy. All of a sudden his shirt and pants were painful, the textures pressing in on over-sensitive skin. He tore them off, and threw the shredded remains… somewhere. The rough dirt, studded with pebbles and sand, already stained from other full moons, scraped against his skin.

Splits opened up across his body, sores, that leaked blood and puss and other, less identifiable liquids. At some point he lost control over his bladder. His eyes rolled back until he couldn’t see anything. Frost coated the ground, stayed for a minute, then melted away to mix with the blood and piss and puss. He writhed, unable to do anything else, unable to catch his breath. His heart pounded a thousand times a second, it felt like, and he was fairly certain he must have had a heart attack at some point.

And then, like always, he lost himself to the pain. No matter how used to it he got, it always overwhelmed him.

Jack had just enough awareness left to know he mustn’t scream.

* * *

The torture ended with dawn’s light. Jack groaned as everything that had been transforming slowly reverted to human. When he’d been younger, his wolf had usually been thrown into rages immediately after, though the pain and exhaustion ensured it wasn’t much of a fit. But there were deep gouges torn into the rock walls and roof of his cave, and some of the old trees and bushes that had grown near the cave mouth had been torn up and killed.

Now, though, he had the feeling of his wolf curling up with and around him, sharing in his misery. He had the idea that if he could only see things properly, he could look to the side and see a sad-eyed monster looking back at him, with the same wounds he had.

Jack wanted, desperately, to get up and away from the mess he’d made on the cave floor. As if _knowing_ what he was lying in wasn’t bad enough, he could smell it, and by now the reek had gotten strong enough he could almost _taste_ it too. But he also knew, from experience, that he’d need a bit of time before his legs could hold him up. He still had some broken bones – in his feet, his hands, and his ribs – and torn muscles. He still had gouges and sores in his skin, from where he’d torn at himself with his claws. Another hour, maybe two, and he’d be able to leave the cave and crawl to his lake, but not before then.

As usual, he fell into something like a half-aware drowse to pass the time. His eyes were open, and he stared out the cave mouth. If something moved out there, a falling leaf, a squirrel, or something more dangerous, he’d know and wake up properly, but otherwise he could rest.

The sun was fully up, and in the distance he could hear church bells over in Burgess. Jack took a deeper breath, and his ribs only twanged. Yeah, time to go clean up.

He rolled over onto his front, and pushed himself up onto hands and knees. Pain stabbed up from his hands, and then when he got to his feet, it was worse. He caught up his staff and held tight to it. Jack used it as a third, non-aching limb as he hobbled out of the cave, utterly naked and not caring. It was hardly new, and it wasn’t like anyone important would see him.

Jack shook and twitched like a spooked horse, and finally collapsed down beside the lake. The grassy bank dropped down about a hand’s width to the water, and then from there several body lengths down to the bottom. There wasn’t a shore to speak of in this lake.

It made it easier to simply tilt forward and fall into the water.

Jack had tried drowning. He’d seen it work for other werewolves; werewolves, he’d found, were too heavy to swim. No matter how much they thrashed, they always ended up sinking. A werewolf that wanted to commit suicide was better off jumping in a good, deep lake.

It didn’t work for him. After a certain point, when the pressure of the water was at its worst, something in him clicked and he stopped needing to breathe. He couldn’t die by drowning.

It did make it easier to take a bath.

He sank all the way to the bottom. Once there, he started scrubbing at his skin, his hair, until a cloud of dried blood and other nastiness spread around him. He didn’t have any soap, but _anything_ was better than wearing his own filth.

When he was done, he climbed up the side of the lake, quite literally. He’d already gouged handholds out of the side, long ago, so he was able to use them like a ladder.

It hurt a little, when he coughed up the water and started breathing air again, but compared to last night it was nothing.

Jack looked himself over, and sighed. He was still covered in bloody, raw gouges, all over his arms and chest – and face, when he felt carefully there – but they weren’t bleeding anymore. They’d heal up as soon as he got a little food.

He caught up his staff and started walking back to his cave.

Not the one he’d spent the night in; that place was a wreck, and still stank of last night. Jack wrinkled his nose. The jeans and sweater he’d worn were a dead loss, too torn and soiled to bother trying to save them. Most of his clothes ended up that way. It was why he kept a supply, things he’d picked up out of donation boxes. Though the sweaters had been a real find. Some clothing store had been sending them back as defective, missing cords in the hood and small holes at the hems. Jack certainly didn’t care about that; he’d absconded with all three boxes of sweaters in his size, and then, feeling generous, had shifted the remaining five boxes out to a church donation center.

It wasn’t like the store would suffer. They’d already been reimbursed. They’d just tell the truth, that someone had stolen the boxes. Someone else would get in trouble for leaving said boxes out in the alley instead of in the back of the store until pickup. And life would go on.

The second cave Jack went to was the one he’d woken up in. He’d cleaned it out, a little, and in the process found that it went deeper than he’d thought; the back wall had been a pile of settled rubble blocking off a deeper, larger space. It made a cozy den, especially with the work he’d put into it.

His clothes were piled in one ‘corner’, and the first thing he did was move over and pull on a new sweater and pair of worn-out jeans. The cotton felt rough against his oversensitive skin, but Jack merely clenched his teeth and did his best to ignore it. Once he was reasonably clothed, he picked his staff up again and headed out.

There was no food in the cave. It’d be stupid to keep any here. He’d have to go hunting.

Jack stood at the entrance, and looked towards Burgess. There were easy pickings there. Heck, the food would even be cooked.

But after a full moon, he wanted something rich, fresh. Something that’d heal him faster than stone-cold pizza and tag-ends of other peoples’ meals. That meant meat, red and bloody and raw.

There were a couple of old deer in the woods he knew of. Maybe one of them had keeled over in the past couple weeks, or was close to it. It was always easier to kill something he knew was near the end of life, anyways.

Or so nasty it had to be put down. Jack had taken out a goodly number of moose, ones that liked hanging around campgrounds. Someone could get hurt by one of those monsters.

* * *

That night was another full moon.

Jack had half been expecting it, though he wasn’t sure why. He’d kept close to his cave, and managed to get down to the miserable place before the pain had fully hit. He even managed to get his clothes off without wrecking them.

He suffered until dawn. Once more, he dragged himself down to the lake. Once more he scrubbed himself clean. Once more he dragged himself back to his cave, and pulled on his clothes. Once more he went out to get food. The deer he’d taken down yesterday was still there. He hadn’t eaten all of it in one sitting, just a good amount.

With a full belly speeding his healing, Jack headed back to his lake to clean up again. He washed the blood off his hands and face, stretched, and once more looked towards Burgess.

Maybe not. Today was Easter, wasn’t it? Some years he enjoyed watching the hunts. Pretty much every year he liked stalking Bunny. Hunting without a kill at the end; as angry and bloodthirsty as his wolf was, he rather thought it preferred Bunny-stalking over everything.

Not this time. Not after… He clenched his fists and growled. “Go ahead,” he muttered, and glared in the direction of town. “Have your holiday. You ignored me, now I’ll ignore you. See how _you_ like it.”

Probably Bunny would like it quite a bit, but the defiance was necessary.

Jack turned and went back into his cave.

He was tired enough to sleep, he decided. He hadn’t slept for two nights now. Not an impossible length of time, he’d certainly gone longer, but if he didn’t have to…

Thought was precursor to the deed. Jack leaned his staff up against the wall next to his bed, and then tumbled down onto the pile of rushes and furs. He curled up on top, and let himself drift off to sleep.

If he cried, there was no one to notice, and no one to care.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bunny is thoughtful and Jack hates the full moon... Fun chapter, huh?


	3. Chapter 3

Jack perched like a gargoyle on the light pole, scowling. The children below him didn’t see him, but that was hardly new. What was new was how… tired and worn out they looked.

How they _all_ looked.

The youngest kids looked on edge. Even the most confident, stolid of them looked ready to burst into tears at the slightest provocation. The ones he knew to be sensitive and timid looked hunted. Or haunted. The schoolyard, which normally echoed with laughter and shouts, was silent as a graveyard. The older children were picking up on the morose atmosphere, and one or two looked as hard done by as the toughest of the younger children.

Something was up. Something bad.

Jack strained his hearing – human ears weren’t exactly the best for picking up distant whispers, though at least his were better than most – to listen in on Jamie and his friends.

He liked Jamie. Kid was a good one. Worth keeping an eye on.

“Yeah,” Jamie said, looking tired. “I’ve been having nightmares too.”

One of the twins, Jack couldn’t tell which from this angle, yawned. “Our sister’s been keeping us up, screaming her head off every night.”

The other twin added, “Our parents want to take her to the doctor, but there’s something about insurance?”

Cupcake, the latest addition to the group, scowled and folded her arms. “Medical insurance. My mom says that the insurance companies refuse to pay for medical treatment. It’s…” She faltered, and briefly chewed on her lower lip. “It kind of worries me.”

The school bell rang at that point, and the children morosely headed in towards the door.

Jack growled, and blew on his fingers. A small handful of glowing snowflakes formed over his palm, and he distributed them with a gesture. It wasn’t much, but every child touched by one of the flakes started to perk up, look less depressed.

What was going on here?

* * *

He was going to _kill_ the so-called Guardians.

Jack prowled back and forth along the roof-ridge, teeth clenched so hard he was surprised they weren’t shattered. Or cracked, at least. His nails had drawn blood from his palms already.

He was just so angry he could barely see straight.

How dare they? How fucking dare they? They had one job – _one_. And they couldn’t even manage that right!

All these nightmares, all those disappointed children!

The Easter Bunny had skipped out on Easter!

His anger wasn’t quite able to stand up to that. Jack had never, ever known Bunny to fail, in almost three hundred years. He’d watched as the rabbit sent out his eggs while stunned stupid from exhaustion, while skin and bones from countless missed meals, even while missing fur because of fresh burns and with limbs wrapped up from broken bones.

Easter was the guy’s _life_. Jack could almost, _almost_ see the others flaking out, but not the Easter Bunny.

So what had happened? Jack had managed to hear, while eavesdropping, the children lament how the egg hunts hadn’t happened. At least half of them were now convinced all previous egg hunts had been done by their parents, while the other half were lamenting how the Easter Bunny must have died. But the second group grew smaller every day, while the first group grew larger.

And that was normal, really; children grew up. They stopped believing, usually about twelve or thirteen.

But not six and seven!

Jack stopped his restless pacing, and looked up at the waning moon. “I bet you know,” he muttered. “But you’re not going to tell me, are you? Useless jerk that you are.”

He snorted, and jumped off the roof to a lamp post. He crouched, braced, and jumped to the next. No flying, just muscle propelling him along. It was fun, an interesting challenge.

This was a residential street. Jack kind of liked it, though the houses all had that that cookie-cutter sameness that made his lip curl. There were toys left out in the front yards, and most of the vehicles were those big mini-van things meant for hauling around kids and all their junk, just a little battered from life.

He could hear children whimpering and crying in their sleep.

Not for the first time, not for the last, his temper boiled over.

At least this time he did something useful with it.

Jack leapt up, until the wind caught him and held him in a hover. He created more of his special snowflakes, a double handful, then twice that, then more and more until he held a tiny blizzard in his hands.

Then he threw his hands out, unleashing the snowflakes on the world.

They acted more like heat seeker missiles than snowflakes, he thought, reasonably proud. One per child, and closed windows were no barrier to them. Like the little fairies that collected the teeth, the snowflakes just faded right through the glass.

The whimpering began to die down. Jack sniffed the air. Things felt… better. Not good, but better.

Now, how many more times could he do that in a night…?

He cracked his knuckles, and bared his teeth in a grin. Time to get to work.

Jack managed to do the trick with the snow four more times, but by the fifth he was staggering with weariness. Even in midair. He did manage to scatter a few more flakes, but only with the last dribs and drabs of power. The wind dropped him down behind a pizza parlour.

He basically turned his brain off at that point. Jack knew he stumbled to a dumpster. He knew he shoved the lid up. He knew he tore open a garbage bag.

He knew what he was eating.

He just didn’t care. The wolf was in control, and the wolf wanted food. The wolf didn’t care that the food was just this side of bad, that most of it had been nibbled at by other people, or that it was garbage.

Jack ate until he was full, and then stepped away from the dumpster. He was too used to this sort of thing to feel sick, but… well, shame wasn’t unusual.

Hunting was better. At least, for his self-esteem.

Jack climbed up onto the roof of the pizza joint, and looked out over Burgess. He wasn’t very high up, but then, he didn’t need to be.

Something strange was going on. He didn’t like it. Kids were suffering. The lack of sleep, the fear, it was a form of torture in a way. Whoever was doing that to a bunch of kids was lower than worm-food, and when he got his hands on them –

His wolf alerted to sudden movement. Jack turned his attention away from the town as a whole and refocused.

It was like a moving shadow. There and not there, all at the same time. Jack hesitated, and then let his wolf come forward. This was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea –

And then it wasn’t.

The wolf… didn’t shove him aside, like he half-expected. Rather, the wolf stepped up beside him, in a way, and started… talking.

_Look there,_ it whispered. _Fast, clear edges. Moves straight, all lines. Nature doesn’t work like that._

With the wolf pointing it out, he could see exactly what it meant. He. The wolf was very male, unconsciously so, male without the need to posture and strut.

And just what _that_ meant, Jack didn’t know.

_Horse,_ the wolf decided. _Black, not-flesh horse. Climbing air to get in sleep-den. Why?_

Good question. Jack hesitated, and then jumped out into the air, letting the wind carry him closer.

Halfway to the house, he heard the screaming start.

Terrified, heart-rending screams, from someone that was about six. A young six.

The wolf went silent with rage. That was why.

Jack flew up higher, waiting. They couldn’t do anything for the child; lights were coming on in the house as the child’s parents reacted and came running to the rescue. As if driven out by the light, the horse trotted out into the street, a full story above the pavement and not seeming to notice or care.

The black horse didn’t notice Jack, hovering above.

At least, not until he broke its back.

His dive forced the horse down onto the pavement. They hit with bone breaking force, and Jack was knocked free. He tumbled and rolled, catching all manner of bruises before landing on his feet, crouched over until he was almost on all fours.

The black horse shook its head, and got up with some difficulty. The broken bones – and broken back – only made it harder to control its limbs. Not impossible, like it should have been.

Jack growled, a long, low warning sound. The horse jerked, and its lambent yellow eyes widened in reaction.

Then it charged.

It took only a second to check, but he still had no magic. He had his staff as a pole arm and he had his own brute strength from being a werewolf. It’d have to do.

Jack swayed out of the way, and whipped his staff in an overhead arc to smash into the horse’s haunches. He put as much power into the blow as he could, and though it was glancing, one hind leg collapsed.

The horse screamed, like rusty metal scraping against rusty metal, and whirled on a single rear hoof to charge Jack again.

This time, he braced himself, and met the charge squarely.

The horse slammed into him, all but knocking him from his feet. Jack snarled, and dug his toes into the ground. He kept his arms folded in front of him, staff sandwiched between his forearms, and pushed on the horse’s chest that way.

The wolf took control long enough to snap at the horse’s neck. The horse whinnied in shrill fear, and the force of its charge lessened.

Jack snarled louder, and then twisted. All the horse’s momentum was suddenly directed to the side, and it stumbled, tripped, and fell. Its head and neck twisted awkwardly. If it’d been flesh and blood, it would’ve been dead of a thrice-broken neck.

But it wasn’t flesh and blood…

Jack risked a long second to look down at his arms. Black grains of sand from the horse’s hide glittered on his sleeves. He brushed at it, and it fell off.

Sand?

The horse was made out of sand.

Two black hooves the size of dinner plates came down on his head.

Jack was flattened. The horse began to rear up and come down on him hooves first, head, shoulders back. The only blessing was that it didn’t weigh as much as a real horse did, so it only did a fraction of the damage. A fraction was still painful enough.

Jack howled and rolled over. He let go of his staff, and caught both hooves, one in each hand.

The black horse’s weight shoved him down into the pavement, but there was nothing better for Jack. It wasn’t like it could force him _through_ the ground.

Braced as he was, he was able to push up against the horse’s weight, lifting it higher. The horse began to panic and thrash.

Jack spread his hands just a little. And then he let go.

One hoof slammed down next to his right ear. One next to his left.

And the horse’s head swung down into reach.

This time, he grabbed the horse by the head. His thumbs dug into the eyes. His fingers clamped down next to the ears. And he began to _squeeze_.

The black horse went mad.

It flung its head up and tried to shake him off. Jack hung on like grim death, teeth bared, and continued to squeeze.

The horse went to its knees, its thrashing slowing, getting weaker, but no less frantic.

Jack was able to plant his feet, grip the horse’s head, and _twisted_ and _pulled_.

The horse screamed, convulsed, and exploded into sand.

Jack staggered, suddenly off balance, and tripped over his staff. He landed on his ass, hard. But the horse was gone. The remaining sand hissed, very faintly, and seemed to dissolve in the cool air. Jack brushed the sand from his shirt and pants, but it seemed to vanish halfway to the ground.

So and so. He jumped up, though the effort nearly floored him, and flew up high enough to look over most of Burgess. Black horses making children scream, missing Guardians, and who knew what else.

Just _what_ was going on here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so, people can start to figure out what happened, what didn't happen, and what Jack's going to be facing. Muwahahahaha.


	4. Chapter 4

Things were getting really strange, now. It was almost two weeks past Easter, and there was no sign of the Big Four anywhere. And oh, Jack had looked. He'd even risked leaving North America entirely, crossing the North Atlantic and chasing the night across Europe, Russia, and Asia, before crossing the North Pacific and checking out South America.

Nothing. Other than a small collection of comic books in other languages. Jack didn't, quite, look guiltily over at the stack along one wall, but it was a near thing. He wasn't really a big fan of them, as such, never knew what was going on, but there wasn't anything better for a rainy day.

Which wasn't the point. He hadn't seen sand nor feathers, which meant the Sandman and the Tooth Fairy were both missing. The Easter Egg hunts had, obviously, all failed. Presumably Santa wasn't going to show up for Christmas, though that was some long months away.

For lack of anything better to do, Jack had retreated to his cave to think things over. All the traveling he'd done had made him - or more accurately, his wolf - nervous. Now that he was paying attention to his wolf, instead of just trying to keep it quiet and try to stave off an attack of rage that led to blizzards, century old trees being torn up by their roots, and the wholesale mutilation of cow herds... Well.

His wolf was a nervy thing, strangely enough. Jack would have called it - him - paranoid, except that wasn't exactly right. More like a dog that'd been beaten, until even a hint of human made it cower.

But his wolf was also observant, and a hunter. Maybe, just maybe, Jack could... what, communicate with it? Use his wolf's mindset, somehow? It was worth a try... with certain precautions taken.

He'd strung up several fishing lines across the mouth of his cave. Silver spoons, forks, and knives dangled from the lines. It wasn't much, but perhaps his wolf would hesitate before pushing through, if it came to that. Jack certainly didn't want to touch the silver. It burned, and the burns healed almost human-slowly. Very annoying, and mildly painful.

Jack had also managed to find a heavy leather collar that buckled on. It was heavy, and considering where he'd stolen it from, it'd probably been used on a tiger or bear before zoos had become more humane. The heavy chain was definitely meant for an elephant, though there were probably industrial uses as well.

The collar and chain weighed down his neck, but he felt better with the whole idea once it was all in place. If his wolf did get out of control and take over, at least he'd tried.

And now the question was, just how did one go about communicating with their wolf?

He started by closing his eyes. Nothing, except for a creeping sense of having done something stupid.

His wolf stirred.

Jack froze, and concentrated on breathing, in and out, slow and even. Calm, calm. He had to stay calm.

The wolf stirred again, and he felt it - wake up? Uncurl? Impossible to describe. And then it - lunged - and...

* * *

He was sitting by a fire, in a one - no, two - room house. The floor was made from wide planks, planed and sanded level and smooth. Jack had a sudden memory, so intense it felt like he was _there_ , of working the rough stone over the wood, until his arms burned and his hands cramped. He was young, in the memory. And a man, _the_ man, the center of his world, leader, protector, everything that mattered, told him he was doing a good job.

The intense pleasure he felt at that hurt. It was _good_ but it _hurt_. And then the memory was over, and Jack would have given _anything_ to have it back.

He looked around the house instead, recognizing every last floorboard, the large logs that made up the exterior walls, the furniture, and the massive wolf lying on the floor beside him.

"This was our home," Jack said.

The wolf (Silver, his little sister had called him Silver) lifted his head, and stared at him. It was strange. In his memories (and he had memories now) he'd never seen himself as a wolf. There hadn't been any mirrors in his life, and he'd never been interested in looking in the water to see his reflection. Father had made comments about his (theirs, he realized, there were two of them) appearance, and Emily had as well, but that was world's away from seeing it with his own eyes.

He'd known, objectively, that he - Silver - they were big as a wolf. Almost the size of a female black bear, actually. Definitely closer to three hundred pounds than two hundred, all of it muscle. And fur, Jack realized with sudden amusement. Silver was very... fluffy.

The wolf's eyes were the color of old blood and rust, almost dull, in direct contrast to every other werewolf Jack had ever seen before. Their eyes were always bright blue, or silver, or gold. He'd even seen a green-eyed wolf once. But never red, and never dull.

At least Silver's fur was almost usual, for a werewolf. He was a solid brownish gray, nothing at all like real wolves - werewolves only occasionally had fur colors and patterns like real wolves, usually they looked more like dogs - with a thick coat that would have put a leonberger to shame.

Silver huffed, and laid his head back down on his paws. A massive head - shaped exactly like a wolf's, the only resemblance the werewolf had to their lesser cousins - on massive paws. Those dark red eyes stared up at him, and then the wolf looked away.

_What. Want?_

Jack stiffened. It wasn't the words. He remembered, now, talking with Silver like this - well, not exactly like _this_ \- all the time. It was the way it felt, like listening to someone talk when their voice was rusty and hoarse with disuse. It filled his mind with the memory of cobwebs and the smell of dust and old despair.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I'd forgotten... I only knew that you caused me pain. I didn't understand."

Silver huffed a sigh at that, and flicked an ear. Jack sat back in his chair, his father's chair, and relaxed. The two of them shared a soul. Jack's suppressing his wolf as much as he could had hurt the both of them, but now they would heal. And Silver had forgiven him, just as Jack forgave Silver for the inevitable pain every full moon. It wasn't like either of them had ever really _wanted_ to hurt the other.

 _What want?_ Silver asked again, sounding a little better. Not quite like Jack remembered from their youth, before they... died.

Then again, they'd changed since then.

"I need you. I'm horrible at hunting alone, you know that."

The wolf lifted his head again, and his lower jaw relaxed in a lupine grin. His tongue lolled between his very big fangs. Unlike dogs and their lesser cousins, werewolf fangs seemed too big to fit in their mouths. Their claws were almost as bad, Jack thought, but at least with a werewolf they retracted halfway.

 _Poor weak stumbling human_. Silver began to wag his tail. _Needs help._ So _much help._

"Yeah," Jack agreed, and chuckled under his breath. Silver crooned, and shifted to lay his head on Jack's knee.

The moment Jack rested his hand on Silver's head, the wolf's fur changed. It bleached out, becoming the same white-clear as Jack's hair. Silver's eyes didn't change. Jack was relieved. He wasn't sure he could have taken it if Silver changed completely.

 _Help,_ the werewolf said, as if granting the biggest of favours. _Hunt. Together. Better, now._

Yeah, Jack thought, and looked around his old home once again.

Then he woke up.

* * *

Silver stretched his muscles, bounding from rooftop to rooftop, stalking the black horses. Jack watched from behind Silver's eyes, more than the wolf had had over the years. He didn't blame Jack - and he felt Jack's relief as his own - because he would have done the same. Probably had; there were blank spots in their memories, accompanied by the feelings of bloodlust and rage. Even Silver lost his temper.

The black horses were leaving the human dens. _"Homes,"_ Jack told him, but that was a stupid word. Most words were.

The small humans were awake and sobbing, or asleep and whimpering. Their fear oozed from the houses, and filled the hard pathways in a silent, stinking river. Silver curled his upper lip. He liked fear, when it was honest. This was poison. Wrong.

A pity he knew the black horses were sand. An even greater pity human teeth were weak. He could not bite and rip with his fangs.

Humans were poorly designed.

Jack sighed, and shifted in the back of their mind. _"You pretend to be a savage, but I can tell you're faking it."_

Silver took great care in forming his response. _"Eyeball not know. Eyeball wolf. Scent, sight. Eyeball words stupid."_

_"That is not... oh, never mind."_

Silver grinned, and dropped down onto the earth when he reached the last building. The black horses never noticed them. They paused, not like real horses, at the end of the street. He crept towards them, moving quiet as their once-lover had taught them to. Jack had been fond of the Indian - Native American was the word now, wasn't it? - but Silver had been indifferent. More or less. Their lover had been very good at ear scratching, and hadn't been afraid, but their lover had not been their _mate_. Perhaps if they had been together longer, but Silver hadn't wanted to get attached. Not when they had to spend so much of their lives apart.

The lessons were useful, though. Not that it was hard to sneak in the overgrown village. The ground was hard underfoot, but there were no small, biting sticks and rocks to hurt the foot and make Silver yelp. There was little shelter - fencing, mostly, low and with the slats widely spaced - but it didn't matter when the prey didn't look.

Silver kept his growl to himself, feeling the slight change in sight that said his eyes were wolf-red. Stalking his prey did that. It was fun. And he wanted to kill them.

He felt Jack stir a little at the thought of death, not entirely easy with the wolf's instincts. That was fine. Jack would get used to them again, and then it would be like they had never been separated.

He licked his lips, and stopped ten feet away from the nearest horse. It didn't notice him, ignorant thing. The shape was more right than its instincts.

Silver's lip curled, and he readied himself. Jack's memories told him how to use their new powers; experience had already taken care of the staff.

Sometimes, while a wolf was needed, the wolf-shape was not. They were experienced in using each others' forms.

The black horse nearest him snorted, and began to look around. Silver struck.

He tore through the black horse with one hand, plunging his arm up to the elbow in the creature's torso. Sand; he'd expected it from Jack's memory, but it was still an odd feeling. The black horse screamed and died, collapsing into a rapidly fading mound of the sand.

Silver felt... odd, now that the sand was on him. He froze it, and snarled, the wolf-noise and rage banishing the strange fear. He was a werewolf! He feared nothing! Once he'd shaken the sand off, the fear went away - but by then the other horses were attacking.

 _"You need to work on your multitasking,"_ Jack commented, taking back use of his hands long enough to drive the horses off with his staff. He was one to talk, Silver thought. Their human half was inclined to fly into things, even now.

He growled at the horses, which - oh, how cute, they were trying to intimidate him. They crowded in close, nine (nine was one finger less than ten) of the beasts. Their eyes glowed bright yellow, and they shed bits of sand like fur.

They didn't intimidate like horses. They tried to intimidate like humans, which was odd. Humans weren't very good at being scary, in Silver's opinion.

 _"You only say that because you can tear people limb from limb. Humans are very scary to other humans."_ Jack watched the horses, more confused than Silver was, but willing to stay out of the way. _"Are you going to kill them all?"_

 _"Dead cannot lead to lair,"_ Silver reminded Jack. Their human half 'nodded', and subsided in the back of their mind to watch.

Silver did not waste time in the fighting. If it could be called that. Jack muttered something about 'curb stomp battle', with an implication of giggling. Silver ignored him.

Eight of the horses died quickly, torn apart by hands, smashed by the staff, or frozen and then shattered. The ninth horse screamed, and ran away. Silver chased it openly for several minutes, before falling back and going up, flying over the tops of the trees. The horse, down below, thought it had lost him. Stupid thing.

Silver followed from above. Once he was certain the horse wasn't looking for him, he dropped down almost to the ground, staying twenty feet back. There was a chancy moment once, when the wind blew wrong, but when the horse didn't react Silver realized it had no sense of smell.

The horse was made out of sand. No sense of smell was understandable.

He stalked the horse to a hole in the ground. Silver flew up and perched on a sturdy tree branch, the pine masking his scent, just in case. He was wary of entering the hole; if they could shapeshift, it would be another matter, but in human form...

Well, their senses were better than a human's, but going into that tunnel would still restrict them. He wouldn't have his claws and fangs to fight with. Human shape was well enough for wide open spaces, but he preferred to be the wolf when fighting close in.

_"You just like biting people... what's that?"_

Good question. Silver leaned forward, confident that if they slipped from their perch, the wind would catch them.

A small form ran out of the hole. Silver did fall out of the tree when he realized what it was, though he landed on a lower branch without harm.

The rabbit ran headlong, barely paying attention to what was in front of it.

Silver poked Jack, who returned the poke with heavy confusion. So this wasn't normal, then.

Then, something else left the hole. For a moment Silver and Jack both rebelled, neither of them wanting to look at the thing. Jack was the one to force their gaze in the right direction, until they saw and understood what it was.

If a cat could be crossed with a spider, and then made the size of one of the horseless carriages - _"SUV,"_ Jack told him, _"that one is called an SUV."_ \- and coated the whole thing in what looked like dripping oil... that was this thing.

And it was fast.

Faster than the rabbit. The rabbit dove for the dubious shelter of a bush, and the dark thing caught it mid-air. The mouth shut, teeth clacking together, and the rabbit screamed.

The rabbit sounded human.

Silver howled, and dove for the thing. Jack quickly named the thing "Shenlob", which was good enough. Humans liked names, Silver knew. At the moment... so did he.

Names defined a thing. They made the thing less scary, less unknown.

The Shenlob looked up, and dropped the rabbit. Silver smelt blood, saw it, but couldn't focus on that. The Shenlob screeched, and Silver found himself dodging to the side, without meaning to.

He didn't want to get near the Shenlob.

He was afraid.

Silver wasn't the only one to get angry at that. He felt Jack stir, glaring at the Shenlob with Silver. Something inside shifted, as they joined their focus.

The Shenlob screamed again. He roared back, the sound louder than his small frame should have produced. It made the beast pause, and in that moment of hesitation, he attacked.

The Shenlob dodged out of the way, and he settled his feet to either side of the rabbit. He wasn't sure why it was so important now; only that the scream had reached deep inside him, and caught hold of a protective impulse he normally ignored, except with children.

Perhaps that was it. His father had always told him to protect others. The flock, the village children, his little sister. Later decades would phrase it differently, though the meaning was the same. "With great power comes great responsibility." He had the power, the strength. It was his responsibility to use it.

It flashed through his mind quick as lightning, and shaking him almost as much as getting struck. Whether things would continue to make sense once the fight was over, he didn't know, but he'd hold to his epiphany as long as he could.

"I," he said, sounding - sounding like his father had, so calm and self-assured - "Am the White Wolf of Winter. This is my forest. And you are unwelcome here! Leave... or I will destroy you."

The Shenlob seemed to consider his warning, and then screamed again. It charged, moving faster than he would have expected, with its many legs.

No matter. He could move faster, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE WOLF RETURNS. Cue dramatic music. Oh, also, there's a Shenlob.


	5. Chapter 5

The Shenlob swiped at him with two legs, and he swayed out of the way. He returned the blow with claws of ice, that tore into the oozing dark liquid and made it splatter. He also felt the tip of the claws catch in something, flesh by the way the Shenlob reacted.

It screamed and tore away, and then paced around him in a tight circle, staying just out of reach. He turned to watch it, not letting it go behind his back. The rabbit was still at his feet; he had to do something about that. Being pinned down wasn't good.

He risked taking his attention off the Shenlob for a split second, to glance down at the rabbit. The blood seemed to be from a wound on the rabbit's neck, but there wasn't enough blood for it to have been a death blow. It was still breathing, in quick little gasps that sounded... bubbly, and worried him.

So it was still alive. He wasn't about to leave the rabbit to the Shenlob. Moving the rabbit could make the injury worse, but leaving the rabbit where it was wouldn't be much good, either.

A part of him had to wonder why he was fussing so much over a rabbit, of all things, but... but he was, and it didn't matter why.

The middle of a fight was a bad time to have an internal debate, after all.

He transferred his staff to his other hand, the one with claws, and then quickly scooped the rabbit up into his claw-less hand. The Shenlob charged, but he jumped over it.

The rabbit shook in his hold. After a split second's thought, he eased the rabbit into his sweater pocket, which was just big enough for the rabbit to fit.

"There you go," he told it, and eyed the Shenlob. Strangely, it hadn't attacked; rather, it had watched him fuss with the rabbit. Now it looked furious... maybe. Its face was so strange it could possibly be constipated.

He frowned, and flexed his free hand until those fingers, too, were tipped in deadly ice claws.

Only when that had happened did the Shenlob attack.

He focused on dodging, to start. His body was acting strangely. His heart raced, and he gasped for breath, even though this was hardly any kind of exertion, for him. His limbs wanted to shake, though with how he kept moving, that wasn't possible.

After several minutes, he realized he was afraid.

The realization made him angry. Fear usually did that for a werewolf, he thought, and went on the attack.

Claws were good. The staff was better - the ooze that dripped and splattered off the Shenlob burnt his skin. But he liked clawing through the ooze and making the Shenlob _bleed_.

Blood was good. It smelt a little like oil, a lot like fear-sweat. And when he cut the Shenlob, it screamed and pulled away, afraid of him. That was best. He liked the Shenlob's fear.

An old movie quote ran through the back of his mind: " _Fear leads to anger, and anger leads to hate_." Certainly his fear had led to anger, as it normally did for a werewolf. As for hate... not the Shenlob, he might as well hate a poisonous snake for biting. Didn't mean he wouldn't kill it.

But the Shenlob's master... Something like this would have a master, there was no question of _that_. He could certainly find it in himself to hate the master.

As for the dark side, that didn't worry him. He was a werewolf. He was pretty sure that automatically made him damned, no matter what he did.

The Shenlob went back to prowling around him, clawing at the ground in frustration. He matched it step for step, ignoring the ooze splotching the ground with the _appearance_ of ease, at least. The soles of his feet burned, but he would heal.

He was beginning to get very... frustrated with this fight. Nothing he did to the Shenlob seemed to stick, or be more lethal than the scratches he picked up from blackberry bushes. Nothing the Shenlob did to him stuck either. But he couldn't waste all his time fighting the thing. He had other things to do, and - his fingers brushed the rabbit, hidden in his sweater pocket - things to take care of.

"Enough of this," he said, and watched the Shenlob carefully. It seemed to understand something, tone of voice - still his father's calm and self-assurance - if not the words, and its eyes widened.

Then he pointed the crook of his staff at the Shenlob, and blew, like a child trying to blow out his birthday candles. The crook of his staff glowed, and then the temperature dropped.

Ice coated the Shenlob, building so quickly it seemed to come from nowhere. By the time he ran out of breath and stopped blowing, the Shenlob was coated so thickly it couldn't move, the ice a foot thick at the thinnest spot.

He walked over to the trapped creature, and put one hand on the ice. He could feel it doing... something... to the ice, something that made it brittle, but before the Shenlob could escape, he poured his power through the ice and through the physical contact with the beast.

He froze the liquid he found inside the Shenlob. Blood, and other things.

Liquids expanded when they froze. The Shenlob was torn apart from the inside out.

He stumbled back, suddenly exhausted and barely able to keep his feet. Jack planted the staff against the ground, and leaned on it. His ice claws crumbled away, no longer needed. Even that little bit of power seemed monumental, at the moment.

After a minute, he'd more or less caught his breath, and looked back at the Shenlob ice statue.

Silver stirred in the back of his mind, a disdainful flash of fang, an equally disdainful flick of the tail. Jack smirked in agreement, and then lifted his staff, and swung.

The Shenlob chunks began to hiss and smoke when they were exposed to the warm air. Like dry ice, he realized, subliminating from solid to gas.

"Nice," he said, and patted the rabbit, still in his pocket. "Now, to take care of you, little buddy. Good thing I can tell you're still alive, I'd hate to have gone to all that work for nothing..."

* * *

Aster was too tired and sore to shiver. He... hurt. Everywhere. Exhaustion dragged at his limbs. He'd managed to summon the strength to run, but something... had happened. He'd been caught? He didn't know. There'd been screaming. He thought he remembered doing that. But it could've been from earlier memories.

It was all so confusing. Thinking was hard. It was easier to drift, battered by the pain. He wasn't in the cage, that was something. There was no scent of iron. No saltwater spraying on him, stinging in the wounds. No dark, cultured voice crooning truths into his ear - no! Not truths! Never truths!

He stirred, and opened his eyes, but he might as well have been blind for all he could see. But he couldn't smell Pitch, or hear him. Good reason to believe the Nightmare King wasn't about the immediate area.

Aster sniffed the fabric beneath his front paws, not expecting much, but...

Wolf?

And man. Well, human, with the dark musky tone that told him 'male sex', which in current society meant 'man'. Wolf and human male...

He'd spent... days, possibly weeks, surrounded by Pitch, the darkness, the nightmare sand horses and the fearlings, and felt nothing more than a low-level worry. He'd fretted, he'd been uncomfortable, but he'd refused to be _afraid_.

Now...

Aster somehow found the strength to start shaking. If it'd been physically possible, he'd have vomited.

Werewolf...

He was in some kind of cloth trap. The fabric shifted around him, thick enough to muffle his hearing and block out any light. That said, he could hear strange thumps, and once, a metallic clunk, of something heavy dropping against something solid. A cast iron pot, he was sure of it.

Great. He was going to be eaten in a stew. That was just... Really? He spent his war years fighting fearlings and dream pirates, he fought Pitch when the bugger went crazy, he survived Earth's lava period, both snowball periods, too many dinosaurs to bother counting, the billions of years of isolation without losing his mind... More recently he'd survived Pitch's torture and his escape.

And now he was going to end his life being eaten for _stew_?

Indignation didn't last nearly long enough. Another heavy clunk, and then the sound of someone whittling kindling, killed the bravado quicker than it'd started. He struggled against the fabric - a bag? - but wasn't able to do much. Twitch, mostly. It hurt, and he gasped in pain and exhaustion.

He was going to die. He was - this wasn't _right_! He was - he was the Guardian of Hope. Of life! He wasn't supposed to die like a common rabbit!

So he wouldn't. Aster forced down the tears, and clenched his jaw. So he had to deal with a werewolf, so what? Tired, sore - he'd fight or run, whichever was better. There wasn't a mortal, wolf or no, that could match him.

There. A solution to his problem. That decided, Aster let himself relax, enough that he wouldn't exhaust himself waiting.

Aster listened to his captor work away, preparing the fire, the pot, and curled his upper lip. He was trapped in his small form, the lack of belief making it impossible for him to maintain his larger, normal shape. Didn't matter; a bite was a bite, and some of the worst predators on his homeworld had been bucktoothed, fangs not required.

The bag holding him moved. Aster tensed; soon, now.

His captor lifted the bag, and then - he couldn't figure out, exactly, where he was set down. In a box? A cramped box, with things in the bottom, or -

His captor pulled the bag open, and he could see.

Aster was sitting in a lap.

The momentary bewilderment was his undoing. Before he could run, a large hand took hold of his scruff at the back of the neck, and held him tight. His captor pulled the rest of the bag - no, sweater, he'd - he'd been in a sweater pocket? _Really_? - free, and tossed the sweater aside.

"Alright, my little rabbit man," an all too familiar voice drawled. "Let's take a good look at you."

Jack Frost?

Aster twisted his head, and peered up at Jack from the corner of his eye. The winter sprite grinned down at him, a wry little twist of his lips that was easier on Aster's instincts than the wide, toothy grins humans seemed to prefer.

"You're kinda a mess, little guy," Jack said. He lifted Aster up, one hand on the Pooka's scruff, the other under his rump, and looked far too closely at Aster's stomach for comfort.

He tried to snarl at Jack to back off... and couldn't. He wheezed loudly, but... no words.

"Don't like that, do you?" Jack asked, completely oblivious to Aster's sudden panic. Or, not oblivious, but not aware of the cause.

How could the winter sprite understand? Aster had been stricken mute! This planet was amazing, the people were wonderful, but it had a drawback. Well, several, but the one that currently applied... mute, furry beings were animals. Not people.

He'd been able to defend his personhood by talking. And fighting, but once you thumped the idiot into the ground two dozen times, even the stupidest tended to listen at that point. Now... Now he wasn't able to fight, or talk, or...

Aster clenched his eyes shut and tried not to shake too obviously.

"Well, you haven't keeled over from terror yet," Jack said. Aster opened his eyes, utterly bewildered at that non sequitur. Jack didn't notice; he was too busy staring at the campfire with unfocused eyes. "Are you even a rabbit?"

He should've expected Jack's next action, he really should've, but... Well. He didn't. Jack swooped in and pressed his nose to the side of Aster's neck, and sniffed loudly several times. Aster yelped - he managed an anaemic wheeze - and tried to scramble away. He didn't, obviously, but his nails scratched up Jack's forehead very well.

Jack pulled away, and huffed. "You don't smell like a rabbit," he said, some odd expression entering his eyes. They got darker, maybe? He'd always thought that a figure of speech. "You smell like the Easter Bunny."

Aster froze, and watched as Jack's eyes continued to darken, until they were a dull, human-blood red.

_Werewolf_ , he thought, and swallowed hard.

The werewolf studied him, the dark red eyes looking very strange in Jack's otherwise innocent-looking face. Then, Jack - was it still Jack? Had Jack been attacked, and changed? Considering what happened back in '68, the lycanthropy had to be recent, right? - adjusted his grip on Aster, until the Pooka was forced onto his back, front and hind legs held in one hand, scruff held tight with the other.

He couldn't struggle. He tried, but he could barely twitch, never mind get free. He whined, and clenched his eyes shut as the werewolf leaned down and opened his mouth.

A warm, damp (not slobbering wet - in some small, non-terrified corner of his mind, he was surprised) tongue licked over his throat, against the fur grain.

And that was it.

A pause, and then another lick. After several bewildering minutes, Aster finally figured out what Jack was doing.

_Not_ eating him. Grooming him.

He looked up, at Jack's forehead, and sniffed to verify that yes, this was Jack Frost. The scent of wolf-and-man was mixed with pine, and frozen water, and a faintly earthy touch that Aster interpreted as cave-sleeping. Yes. This was Jack. Jack was a werewolf.

Jack was not eating him.

This was - that - Jack - Aster knew about werewolves! He'd killed his fair share! Stick a small, bloody creature like himself around them, and they turned into slavering monsters looking for a meal! They didn't...

If he could have talked, he'd have coloured the air blue with invective.

Jack continued to groom him. Aster relaxed, despite himself. It'd been a long time since anyone had done this for him. It felt good. It wasn't as good as having another Pooka do for him, Jack's tongue wasn't nearly rough enough to smooth down Aster's fur properly, but Jack was cleaning the blood and dirt off him and it... it just...

He went utterly boneless in the werewolf's grip, which was definitely a mistake. The moment he relaxed fully, Jack shifted his attention to Aster's stomach, and lower, between his legs. Aster honked and tried to scramble away, tried to scream that he wasn't hurt _there_ thank you very much so cut it out! Jack held firm, and continued to groom with _complete_ disregard for how - that - People could take that very wrong!

Thankfully Jack moved on, to Aster's sides - and after a bit of adjusting his hold - Aster's back and haunches. Once more, the steady press and stroke of Jack's tongue relaxed him, until he went boneless again. Jack made a chuckling-rumble sound, and Aster sighed when talented fingers started scratching behind his ears, and along the back of his head. That felt good.

"Huh," Jack said, but he kept up the blissful scratching so who cared? Aster didn't. "You _look_ kinda like the Easter Bunny."

Now if only Jack would make the final leap of logic...

"Didn't know he had a kid."

Aster dropped his head to Jack's knee, and groaned silently. He tried to get to his feet, but... no. He was relaxed now, and clean, but still injured and sore. He'd heal faster than a mortal _anything_ , but that didn't mean much for the current moment.

Jack picked him up and looked him over, making disapproving noises over every cut and tear. Once he'd finished cataloguing Aster's general state of being, he set the Pooka down on top of the discarded sweater, and moved out of sight. Aster was too tired to lift his head and watch Jack go.

He wasn't too tired not to notice Jack had quite the shoulders on him. The rest of the winter sprite - winter werewolf? Werewolf sprite? - might have been scrawny to the point of worrying emaciation, but his shoulders were broad and layered with healthy muscle.

Jack came back quickly enough, with enough bandages to mummify a small squad. He picked Aster back up, and started smearing an herbal concoction Aster recognized as having healing properties, all over the Pooka's injuries. Jack topped that by wrapping Aster in what the Pooka felt was an excessive amount of bandages, especially considering his current size. At the same time, though, it was... reassuring.

"There you go," Jack said, and set the remaining bandages - most of them - aside. "That's better. Now then, little guy... Guess you can't talk? Lucky your throat wasn't torn out, though it looks pretty bad."

Not torn out, true, but... Aster was starting to suspect he'd been injured more than just 'bloody furrows to either side of his throat'. He couldn't talk, and no matter his size, he should have been able to. His honk had been incredibly quiet. Every noise he'd made had either been the next thing to silent, or inaudible.

It was entirely possible the Fearling had managed to sever the nerves that controlled his vocal ability.

Thankfully, unlike the vast majority of Earthlings, Aster would be able to heal any potential nerve damage. It'd just take time. A year, give or take how bad the damage was. He'd spent decades in silence before, a year would normally be no issue.

Normally. Aster peered up at Jack, who was checking the pot... oh. The pot of boiling... carrots? he smelled carrots. Jack had set it up in a clever fashion. There were two cinderblocks set close enough together that the pot could balance on top, and Jack had set the fire around and between them. It'd take longer, if Aster was any judge, but considering they were in a forest that didn't seem to have any human presence about, it was likely the best Jack could do.

At any rate, being mute would make communicating with Jack much more difficult. Not impossible. Aster could already think of one or two things he could do that'd start to get his meaning across, and if he got a pen and paper...

"Looks like it's almost ready." Jack leaned away from the pot, and stroked one hand over Aster's head and ears. It felt good, so Aster tolerated it. Well, perhaps a bit more than tolerated. Jack's hand was nice and broad, and not sweaty-warm like most humans.

"I'm going to have to call you something..." Jack muttered to himself about that while he picked up his sweater again. He wrapped his hands in the fabric, and used that to protect his hands when he pulled the pot off the fire. The sweater ended up singed, but that didn't seem to bother the winter sprite.

"Let's just let that cool." Jack picked Aster up again, and held him against his chest. Aster certainly didn't intend to take advantage, Jack thought he was a child or even younger, but it was a very nice chest and he just didn't have the energy to resist.

He sighed, and cuddled close. A very nice chest indeed. Jack was mostly hairless, with a few pale hairs down the center of his chest, and an equally minimal amount of hair in a trail from just below his naval to the waistband of his pants. Humans, and all human-appearing beings, were better without excessive amounts of fuzz. It just made them look silly.

Jack was muttering overhead, names, Aster supposed. Thus far Jack hadn't directed any of it down at him, so he didn't object to any of the nonsense. Yet.

After a bit, Jack stopped nattering on, seemingly content to stroke his fingers over Aster's head and down his back, in a repetitive and soothing motion. Aster started to drowse again, when Jack spoke. "Y'know, since you look like him... Maybe I should call you Kangaroo. Except that gets him all upset... What's the baby kangaroo called?"

Aster looked up at Jack, absolutely sure his expression screamed _'unimpressed'_. Unfortunately, Jack wasn't looking at him.

"Yeah," Jack said, and twisted to check the pot. "I think I'll call you Joey, until your big, mad daddy shows up again. Darn rabbit, absent without leave... That looks cooled off now."

Aster was shifted down into Jack's lap, while the winter sprite rummaged about the detritus about the campfire and retrieved a spoon. He scooped up a spoonful of something from the pot, and brought it over to Aster.

Carrots. Or rather, carrot mush.

Aster stared at the violently orange stuff and wondered what Jack would do if he got bit.

"C'mon then," the werewolf, the should-be-slavering monster, cooed. "Eat up. Num-num. It'll make you grow _big_ and _strong_."

Aster glowered up at Jack, who grinned in response, and then...

Well. He had to shut up that stupid baby talk somehow. It was easiest just to eat the damn mush.

And it did taste good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aw, look at who Jack rescued! Although Jack is, apparently, unaware of that...


	6. Chapter 6

Silver was quite pleased, and Jack imagined the wolf was doing the mental equivalent of a full body quiver, wagging tail and happy shimmy and all. Granted, Jack was hardly displeased with their new... guest? Companion? Joey was quiet, due to the throat injury no doubt, and mostly stayed curled up on whatever pillow or spare sweater Jack left him on, but having another creature around was... nice.

Animals didn't like werewolves, for the most part. Dogs tended to get along with the wolves, but Jack didn't get to spend a lot of time with them. The last time he'd picked up a rabbit, some poor victim of roads and not knowing about traffic, it'd died in his hands. It hadn't been the injury, either, which had mostly been roadrash and the loss of half an ear. Jack had heard the rabbit's heart racing, getting faster and faster, and then... well.

If an animal was a prey species, it didn't like werewolves. If an animal belonged to a predatory species, it didn't like werewolves. Dogs were an exception; his father's sheep had been another, due entirely to having been raised with Jack herding them in both forms. And even then, they hadn't _liked_ Silver, just tolerated him. Horses were blissfully indifferent, except for a few high strung ones, though mules and donkeys were generally more wary and needed bribery in the form of treats.

Joey, though, he looked like a rabbit - but when Jack picked him up, he could hear the little guy's heartbeat _slowing_. Joey wasn't afraid; Joey was comfortable around Jack, seemed to enjoy his company if the way he snuffled at Jack's chest meant anything. Joey was something Jack could protect and take care of. He hadn't realized how much he'd wanted and missed that.

He stirred the pot of cooking vegetables, and glanced over at the miniature Easter Hare. He hadn't figured on the overgrown grump to have a kid. Of course, from the little guy's appearance, it had to have been something recent. There were newborn humans bigger than this little rabbit, and Kangaroo - thinking the nickname made Silver mentally wiggle even more, so Jack decided that was now _the_ go-to name - was human-sized.

The mini-Roo wasn't quite newborn, though. Jack hummed a little as he stirred. On solids, somewhat mobile, and fully furred. Didn't eat like a rabbit, though. Wouldn't touch grass, except with his feet. Loved the mushy carrots Jack had made him that first day, and then the apple sauce Jack had made by hand for the next meal. And so on and so forth.

"Alright, Joey," Jack said, and reached over for the baby. Joey stood up, and went limp in Jack's grasp as he was transferred from the sweater on the ground to Jack's lap. The sweater was getting more than a little charred at this point. Jack was just pleased to say he hadn't ruined it with a full moon.

The vegetables set aside to cool, Jack returned to his study of the... what were baby rabbits called, anyways? He almost wanted to say _puggles_ , but he knew that wasn't right...

_"Cute,"_ Silver declared, and looked down at the baby rabbit with an approving expression. _"He is cute."_

_"He?"_ Jack asked. _"You're sure?"_

He felt the wolf sniff, and nod. _"Pay more attention during bath. See then."_

During - oh. Jack wrinkled his nose a little. The wolf seemed to think licking someone all over was normal, Jack... didn't. He usually kept his attention on other things, leaving their body to Silver, during 'bath time'.

While he'd been thinking, and talking with Silver, the baby rabbit had managed to squirm up under Jack's latest sweater, until he was pressed against the werewolf's stomach, and mostly hidden by the blue fabric. Jack let his lips curl up over his teeth as he grinned. It was so cute... and ticklish, but mostly cute.

After a bit, he fished Joey out and began feeding the little guy spoonful after spoonful of mushy vegetables. Once Joey had eaten his fill, which was less than half the pot, Jack finished it off. So far as texture went... he'd probably had worse, but he couldn't remember when. Taste-wise, though, it wasn't so bad, though somewhat bland.

Nothing like eating his own cooking to make him miss his mother's.

Jack brooded down at the pot, and then forced the mood off. He had the basic cleanup to do. The pot wasn't about to wash itself.

He tucked Joey away in his sweater pocket, which the little guy seemed happy with - maybe the Easter Bunny _was_ a kind of kangaroo, and had a pouch or something - and put out the fire with a bit of ice. He washed the pot in the lake, and then trudged back up to his cave to put it away.

"Alright, Joey," he said, and pulled the little rabbit out of his pocket. Joey glowered up at him, but Silver was right. It was just too cute. And Joey looked half asleep as well as annoyed. Jack didn't even bother resisting the urge to cuddle. He just curled up around the little fluff-ball and rubbed his chin between Joey's ears.

The first time he'd done that, Joey had jerked and struggled in his grip. Jack had nearly had a heart attack, because what if he'd somehow hurt the little guy? But then Joey had calmed down, and even pressed up against Jack's chin again.

All he could figure was that the chin-rubbing thing was probably a parent-child ritual of some kind that he'd stomped all over. Joey must have though Jack was trying to replace his father or something, but he wasn't. He just thought the mini-rabbit's fur felt nice against the soft skin under his chin.

Whatever the reason, Joey seemed to expect the chin-thing now, relaxing into the contact. Jack hoped it wouldn't mess the little guy up to go back to his dad, once the Easter Bunny _showed up_ that was...

Tonight, he was going to stay in, he decided. He'd been going out every night after rescuing Joey from the Shenlob, hunting the black-sand horses, but tonight he was just too tired. Creating those happy-making snowflakes was exhausting, and between that and the fighting with the black-sand horses, he usually fell asleep just after sharing breakfast with Joey, and didn't wake up until late afternoon. Even then, he couldn't say he felt _rested_ , as such. Just much less likely to collapse.

Silver grumbled in the back of his mind. Jack shared the wolf's sentiments. He wanted to go out, too. Those horses... and that Shenlob. Jack needed to think about things. Besides, if he didn't get real rest soon, he wouldn't be able to think at all.

So instead of putting Joey down on his bed and heading out to Burgess alone, Jack sat down on top of the blankets and put Joey down on his lap. He pulled off his sweater - he'd never gotten used to sleeping while wearing his clothes, and now that he remembered his time as a... human? Mortal? Whatever the proper term was, he could now say that the quirk had gone back to childhood. He hadn't even slept clothed in winter, though he'd bundled up under every blanket he could get his hands on.

Or slept as a wolf. Jack smirked at himself. He'd slept as near to naked as he could get because it was more comfortable. Even then, it'd been all too easy to overheat. Winter had never been _quite_ as cold for him as it'd been for everyone else.

And now, of course...

He set the thought aside, and tossed the sweater over into the 'corner'. After he moved Joey aside, he pulled off his pants, though he left his small clothes alone. If not for Joey, he probably would have taken them off too, but... no. Small, impressionable child. Naked human male. That just screamed bad idea to him.

_"No get,"_ Silver complained, unsurprisingly.

_"You don't want to,"_ Jack told him, and got comfortable in bed. It was easier to adjust to Joey's presence than he'd expected, the small form warm against his chest as they cuddled under the blankets. It was a touch warmer than Jack preferred, but Joey seemed to catch cold easily, so he suffered the mild discomfort.

Jack had intended to think about what had been happening, but he was too tired. Too warm or not, he fell asleep before he finished pulling the blankets up over his shoulder.

* * *

After breakfast, Jack was ready to make up for his lapse last night. Weird things were afoot, and it seemed he was the only spirit left to look into things. And - he thought about his father telling him to protect the village children - he had a responsibility to the people living here, too. But what did that mean, in the grand scheme of things? He doubted the black-sand horses were limiting their nightly attentions to Burgess. Did he drive them out of his town, and ignore everywhere else? Did he look for the source?

Silver perked up at that idea, as Jack should've figured. The wolf had a protective streak as wide and long as the Mississippi River. Hunting the source of the trouble seemed to have him salivating. Everything the wolf enjoyed: hunting, the promise of mayhem, and being able to protect people.

Hunting down the source of the problem sounded great, but... He looked over at Joey, who was clawing at the dirt. Typical baby stuff, he supposed. Dry mud pies? Jack kept his chuckle near inaudible.

He had a responsibility to the Easter Bunny's son, now. Oh, if he could _find_ the Kangaroo he'd happily give the kid back... well, mostly happily, it'd only been a couple of days but he'd miss the scamp...

But Jack had no idea where Bunny lived when he wasn't putting out colourful chocolate eggs, and no way to track him. His nose was a good one, even in human shape, but Bunny didn't leave a scent trail, and besides all that, hadn't shown up this year!

_"What about the others?"_ Silver pointed out. _"Bird-woman and good dreams and big-loud-human?"_

Jack's response wasn't verbal, or impressed. _"I know you can do names. And yeah..."_ That was an idea, though he thought the Tooth Fairy and Sandman were missing, too. He hadn't seen them, anyways, and there'd been several kids bemoaning a lack of quarters in trade for lost teeth...

He frowned at that. He could look for them - it'd be easy enough to bring Joey along - but where would he look? The Sandman didn't seem to have any one place. He thought the Tooth Fairy lived somewhere in South America... didn't she look like that one bird down there? But he didn't know where, and near the equator... ugh.

Santa, on the other hand, was just a hop, skip, and a jump up to the North Pole. Jack not only knew where the guy lived, but how to get through most of his security.

He could go up there, find Santa - or maybe one of the yeti would know how to find the Easter Bunny - and return Joey to his father. Then he could hunt the source of the black-sand horses.

And when he caught the source... Jack's grin had too many teeth in it to look friendly.

He was distracted from his thoughts by a whisper of sound. He turned to look at Joey, his expression gentling into fond amusement. "Hey, little guy," he said, and shifted until he was able to look down at the scribbling in the dirt the kid was gesturing at. Absently, he noted that Joey's heritage was confirmed one hundred percent, since he didn't know any real rabbits that were able to move their arms like a human. Or enjoyed drawing, even if it was in the dirt.

Or writing, he realized. The scribbling was messy writing.

"Huh," he said, and picked the little guy up with one hand. "Awesome. Wish I could read it, though." Jack knew he sounded wistful, but he couldn't help it. "Dad never did have much time to teach me... guess yours has more time on his hands when it's not show time, huh?"

Joey huffed and squinted up at him, until Jack got with the program and began delivering enthusiastic praise. Really, for someone stuck with stubby arms and stubbier fingers, the writing was impressive. It was hardly Joey's fault that dirt wasn't the best stuff to write in, or that Jack couldn't read.

Joey pushed at Jack's face, but didn't seem too displeased by the affection. And he curled up happily enough in Jack's lap while the werewolf explained things to the little guy. He wasn't expecting Joey to understand - writing wasn't that hard, from what he could tell kids as young as two could do it, if given crayons. Paper could be easily replaced by a handy wall, apparently - but it was good to say everything out loud.

"So," he said, and stroked the little guy's ears. "I can try finding out what I can at Santa's hole in the ice. Maybe the hairy ba-aaaah, babies, that's right, babies..." He coughed. "Anyways. The yeti might know where the Guardians are."

He frowned. Jack _had_ thought the Guardians had flaked off for whatever reason, never mind that it didn't make any sense. They were rude, isolated, morons in so many different ways, but they wouldn't abandon their duties.

And there was that little attempt at making him a Guardian to consider, too. Why would they do _that_ unless there was some pressing reason forcing their hand? Ignoring someone for three centuries only to, well, kidnap them and extend an invite... He didn't think even the Guardians were that dense. There had to be some sort of threat pushing them into it.

_"Big four idiots,"_ was Silver's opinion. It was valid, but still. Even idiots had their reasons.

Jack was starting to think along the lines of 'foul play'. Four protectors of children vanish. Then those black-sand horses, that had to be associated with the Shenlob somehow, start, well, preying on children. Even a toddler could see a connection between those two events. Though... were the black-sand horses preying on the children because they weren't being guarded, or because the source of the horses was responsible for the Guardians vanishing?

He didn't even know what spirits could be responsible for the black-sand horses! He'd tried getting to know the other spirits early on, at least the ones that were more humanoid. The animal-spirits tended to attack him, and it'd taken him forever to figure out why. But between the full moons, and his wolf going occasionally berserk back then, he hadn't been able to get to know many _names_ , never mind make any friends.

_"Sorry,"_ Silver grumbled. He didn't feel sorry at all to Jack, but he left it alone. It wasn't Silver's fault, really. It'd been as much Jack's, for keeping the wolf locked down so tightly.

He felt Silver give him a friendly nudge, and nudged the wolf back. Sometimes it was hard to remember that Silver was part of his mind, not outside his body.

Joey scrabbled at his front, and Jack turned his attention back outside his own head. He'd drifted off while thinking, he realized. No harm if he was on his own, but probably worrying or annoying to the baby rabbit.

"Sorry about that," he said. "Got lost in my own head. Maybe I should get a guide dog." Silver snorted at the joke. Joey just continued to claw at Jack's sweater, though less urgently.

"Hey now." Jack picked Joey up, and cuddled the baby to his chest. "What's wrong? Did I ignore you too long?"

Joey huffed, and made tiny little squeaky sounds. Jack felt his insides turn immediately to goo, and Silver wasn't too far behind. He couldn't help but start cooing at the baby, and tickling at Joey's sides. Was there _anything_ as cute as this mini-Easter Bunny? When they found the adult version, he'd have to absolutely insist on baby-sitting, if only to get his cuddle fix...

Joey began to squirm and squeak after a bit of attention, looking a bit cranky. Jack frowned, and looked up at the sky. It was getting on in the morning, but it wasn't near noon yet... maybe Joey was peckish and needed a snack?

Silver directed his attention to their food stores with a feeling of dissatisfaction. Thinking about it, Jack suddenly shared the feeling. It wasn't like he normally kept food in his cave anyways. Vegetables seemed to be a bit safer, but they were running out of the good stuff at this point. What was left was getting a bit... sad. He could go on another garden raid, but he didn't want to do that too often.

"It's not like I can sneak into grocery stores," he grumbled to Joey. The little rabbit looked confused by Jack's tone of voice. "Motion sensors don't work for me, and even if they did, the doors get locked. Another reason to head northwards, I guess. Santa's little helpers have to have food about, don't they?"

Joey nodded... maybe. It looked more like an awkward bob of his entire front end. In a dog, bowing like that was invitation to play. Jack smiled faintly, and then more honestly as he began tickling the baby. Joey began to squeak and squirm, pushing at Jack's hands and scrabbling about with his little hind feet.

"Do you like that idea?" Jack cooed. "Do you? Do you want to go visit the great white north and throw snowballs at the nasty yeti? Do you really? I think you do. I think you do! Alright, Joey, we'll go throw snowballs. And hey! We can even go flying first!"

The baby stopped squirming, and stared at him. Jack blinked. If he didn't know better, he'd have said Joey looked utterly horrified...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh Jack... you have the wrongest idea ever about your little "Joey", don't you?
> 
> Sorry this is a day late, I blame work. I'm no longer aware of what day of the week it is, apparently.


	7. Chapter 7

Flying with Jack was better than flying with North, but that wasn't saying much.

The mad Cossack liked 'modifying' his sleigh every chance he could get. Usually in ways that made it both faster and more unstable. Aster couldn't count the number of times he'd been called on to pick North up from whatever crash landing he'd made, when something had gone 'a little wonky'.

And you never knew when there would be seat belts. He put them in and took them out on a whim, it seemed.

All the griping in the world couldn't hide the fact that Aster was worried - both about North, and about the speed Jack was currently employing.

Actually, he was more worried about Jack's flight. At least it distracted him, quite nicely, from worrying about the others.

Sure, he was safe - Jack flew close enough to a tall tree Aster could hear leaves slapping against Jack's pants - but the others were still Pitch's captives. And there wasn't anything he could do about it.

For the moment.

Jack... He'd thought writing out his plea would do it, but Jack couldn't read.

How could someone not be able to read? Well, no, he knew how - but if there was anything more frustrating, he didn't know of it. Not only could he not communicate with Jack until his throat healed, but Jack couldn't read! He couldn't open a book and lose himself in the story. He couldn't study history books, or science, or mathematics, or _anything_. He couldn't write, either. A whole line of communication was blocked.

Aster, who had whiled away many an afternoon and evening reading a book, or even trying to write one, was admittedly a touch horrified by Jack's plight.

_How_ had Jack not gone crazy from the boredom?

More trees whipped by, there and gone in the blink of an eye, and Aster cringed. He had the sudden feeling that Jack had entertained himself by doing _this_ sort of thing...

Their speed suddenly dropped, and Jack flew up a good two dozen feet. "You okay, Joey?" he asked, contorting his neck so he could peer down at Aster. The Pooka was tucked into Jack's sweater, able to look out through the open collar - which he did, if only because he wanted to see what they crashed into, when it happened - so he had no idea how the werewolf was managing to look him in the eye.

He nodded, if only to make Jack look away and watch where they were going. Just because he couldn't see any cliffs around didn't mean they couldn't fly into one anyways!

"Not a fan of speed, huh?" Jack asked. Aster would have fumed about it - he could run faster than Jack had been flying, but that'd be properly on the ground! - but Jack cupped one hand over Aster's body, pressing him closer to that firm chest...

_Focus_.

He did feel safer, though, with Jack's hand helping to both support his weight and keep him from sliding around inside the sweater. There'd been a few times when Jack had switched direction where he'd lost his grip on the cheap cotton blend, and had to scramble back up to poke his head up out of Jack's collar again.

"Sorry, little guy. I guess not everyone likes the same things I do. But then," Jack added, his voice quieter. If Aster's ears hadn't been as good as they were, he'd never have heard Jack over the wind. "Most people can't heal as quickly as I can, either..."

Aster turned and rubbed his cheek against Jack's collarbone, and settled in to endure the flight.

Except enduring turned into something closer to enjoyment. Without the insane amount of speed paired with whipping by trees, the flight didn't seem so bad. Their pace was akin to an easy lope, the sort of ground-eating run he could keep up for days without difficulty. They were high enough up that the trees were no longer a threat. He wasn't being flung all over the place. If Aster was honest with himself, it now felt more like being on a sailboat rather than flying, and he _liked_ boating.

Even with all that, he was sure the tipping point came from Jack's hand, his surprisingly broad palm and long fingers, pressing up against him, cradling his small body against the werewolf's wiry chest. Wiry, but strong. On top of that casual, protective strength, there was Jack's scent to consider.

Jack smelt like the wild, when all was said and done, of prowling through pine forests, of gentle snowfall and faintly of fur, and very strongly of male musk. Aster liked it.

Aster found himself relaxing. It was nice, he decided, to spend time with someone as casual about his strength, as careful with it, as Jack.

It was a little slice of home, of spending time with another Pooka, but without the bitter such memories usually inspired. Just the sweet.

He could use a little more sweet in his life.

* * *

The yeti were _not_ pleased when Jack dropped in on them. He didn't much care. They yowled at him to, he thought, stay where he was, but since when did he listen to a bunch of walking carpetbags that smelt funny? He ignored them, and began sauntering through the workplace, which seemed... a bit more chaos and a bit less organized than usual.

Odd. Just another question to add to the list. Though it did suggest that Santa might well be missing too.

Jack stopped to examine some piece of electronics, the wires and shiny guts on display to this tiny corner of the world, and frowned. Why had they grabbed him again? Something about... Pitch, wasn't it? He couldn't quite remember. Well, that was another reason why he was here. Find out what they'd been investigating, he should be able to track them down.

And if the yeti agreed to watch Joey, he could even do it without putting the little guy at risk.

A large hand, strong and smelling like carpet cleaner, clamped down on his shoulder.

Jack reacted without thinking. There was a loud pop as he managed to pull the yeti's arm out of his shoulder and shoved the yeti back against a support beam.

"Oh." He blinked. "Hi Phil."

The yeti growled at him, and pushed at his chest. Jack let go of Phil's arm and backed up.

"Uh, whoops?"

Several other yeti clustered in close, rousing Silver from his quiet contemplation of... whatever he was contemplating. Jack curled his upper lip and let his annoyance rumble from his chest, causing the yeti to pause, and then give him a wide berth.

At the resumption of their personal space, Silver settled down again. Jack didn't really want the wolf to come out and maim anyone else, much though he disliked the yeti. Joey was still at the impressionable youth stage, after all. He'd hate to traumatize the little guy.

One of the yeti did something to Phil's shoulder, causing an even worse sound than Jack had dislocating it, and making Phil yowl with what sounded like equal parts pain and fury. The crowd of yeti backed away, giving him room to roll his shoulder and move his arm. Someone had clearly put the arm back in its socket. Just as clearly, someone - or rather, a group of someones - had never heard of a little thing called 'proper medical procedures'.

Jack was beginning to feel a little dubious about leaving Joey with the yeti. Where were the elves...?

"What is all this _noise_?"

The yeti quieted down to a sullen rumble, and made way for a woman who was at once the most normal woman Jack had ever seen in the spirit world, and the most striking.

She looked utterly human, without even the faint aura that normally made a spirit seem to glow from within. Her makeup had been done by an expert hand, not magic. She hit six feet in height, only because her heels were four inches high. Her hair was dark brown, almost black, done in tight cornrows, each braid ending in a red, black, and white beads. Her clothing was just as ordinary, and wouldn't have looked out of place on Wall Street.

But it was her scent that somehow managed to be the most startling. Under a surprisingly nice perfume, some kind of white flower without the chemical tang, she smelt... human.

"What the - you're human!" he blurted. She looked contemptuous... maybe.

"You have keen powers of observation," she said. "You are the winter sprite, yes? The one who enjoys driving yeti to distraction." She paused there, and looked over at the walking carpets. "Have you no work to be doing? Bah, go!"

Jack raised his eyebrows. Who was this mortal, to order North's lackeys about? Even _Phil_ went, though not without a snarl for Jack.

"I'm Jack Frost, yeah," he agreed, once he got over the shock. "And, uh, you?"

The woman sniffed. "Larisa St. North," she said. " _Mrs_. Claus."

Oh boy. North was married? Jack's confusion must have been obvious, because she smiled, and inclined her head.

"He is hopeful the stories of Mrs. Claus will work on me as stories of his feats worked on him," she said, which made no sense. "What brings you here, Jack Frost? Surely not to drive the yeti to drink."

He shook his head. "No, ma'am," he said, the mannerly tone dragged out of him. "I, well, I'm trying to find the Easter Bunny. I found his son -"

Larisa held up one hand. "Bunnymund has a son?" she asked.

"Well." Jack reached into his shirt, and pulled out Joey. "Who else could this be?"

The woman seemed to melt, and cooed. "Oh, but he is _adorable_! Let me hold him!"

Considering she seemed to have a brain, unlike the yeti who made do with mouldy cheese, Jack handed Joey over without protest. Silver grumbled a bit, but settled when she clearly knew how to hold a baby.

"Oh, aren't you just the cutest little thing?" she asked Joey, tapping his nose with one fingertip. Then she switched to what Jack presumed was Russian. Even if it wasn't, he still didn't understand a single word.

Joey began to wiggle and twist in Larisa's grip, reaching for Jack. She handed him back, with only a bit of a pout, that quickly turned back into a doting expression.

"Come," she said, and gestured towards the back wall. "We should talk."

Jack nodded, and cuddled Joey to his chest. "That's what I came here for."

* * *

Aster wanted to _bite_ something. Everyone, from the wife he didn't know North had, to the yeti that served the two humans tea, believed Jack's story that he, Aster, was his own child! He knew why Jack believed it; and after about a week there wasn't any way Jack was shaking the idea loose at this point. But this Larisa woman, the yeti - didn't they know anything about him? Anything at all?

It was frustrating. All the more so because they all insisted on _fussing_ over him. They cooed at him, they made faces, they picked him up and they were all tall enough that he got nervy being so far from the floor. Jack wasn't so bad; he was shorter, and his grip felt more secure. This lot, though! He finally crawled under Jack's sweater until the polite tea-talk was finished, and the grabby hands much less likely.

He crept cautiously out of cover, but remained perched on Jack's lap, ready to dive to the side and huddle between Jack and the chair arm. Jack rested one hand against his back, which was much more comforting than Aster was _comfortable_ with.

Reminding himself that Jack was a werewolf clearly wasn't doing the job. Apart from a few changes in eye color, Jack wasn't even acting like a werewolf did, making it even harder to remember.

But he had to. The moment he forgot would be when Jack turned into a snarling, vicious beast, that was just how things went.

Though - not that he'd made a study of werewolves - weren't there the psychotic killers, and then the other kind, that were happiest acting like the stereotypical American '50's housewife? The kind that kept themselves subservient and did all the taking care of the dominant personality? He couldn't quite see Jack fitting into that roll, but it'd explain the lack of temper tantrums and snarling beast.

"So." Larisa crossed her legs with the silken sound of calf sliding against calf. At least North had good taste in women. Aster looked her over, not overly worried at being caught at it. Not quite to _his_ taste; she had good musculature, but not as much as he preferred. And while in Russian - or most of Europe and America - she'd be a striking beauty with her golden brown skin tone and eyes that brought to mind a fox; Aster had met _quite_ a few ladies in his time with appearances far more remarkable than Larisa's.

All that said, the force of her personality would have been enough to set a person back on their heels, even if she were the most plain and unmemorable looking woman in the world. This was a woman with the mental strength to stare down yeti, and put up with North's 'creative genius'. Not to mention the rest of the spirit realm's nonsense.

Jack hummed, and set his empty tea cup aside. "So," he said in reply.

The woman pursed her lips, and then nodded. "Tell me what you know," she said. "All I know is I go away to visit my family, then come back and - gone! My Nikolai, he always tells me if he is going out for more than a day."

Aster turned and watched Jack while the werewolf ran through his understanding of events. It was interesting to note where Jack was hitting the proverbial nail on the head, and where he'd missed the nail completely. He picked up that the four of them had been expecting trouble, but couldn't confirm the trouble belonged at Pitch's doorstep. He told Larisa about the corrupted dreamsand - though he called them 'black-sand horses' - and about the Fearling - which he called 'the shenlob' - but it was obvious that Jack didn't know those were Pitch's creatures.

The rundown continued up to Jack's reasoning behind his trip to the North Pole, and the appearance of an actual meal. Aster sat up, nose twitching, as the scent of proper food insinuated itself in the room.

The yeti bringing in the food looked like the ones that'd served the tea - and also made complete gulls of themselves, cooing over him. He shrank down a bit, and resolved to watch their hands. He wanted no more of that, thank you!

"You're nicer than the ones downstairs," Jack said, and accepted a creamy white napkin from the nearest yeti. It - even Aster couldn't tell the females from the males, and he had several advantages - chortled, and set a little table down in front of Jack. Aster eyed it sidelong; the amount of strength it must take to move the brass-and-marble construction was admirable. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to do the same, when he was his normal shape and size.

"Thanks," Jack said. The yeti set out place settings for what looked like ten courses, and started Jack off with a delicious smelling soup. Chicken, if his nose was to be trusted, made with cream to thicken the broth until it was almost like a thin stew. Aster propped himself up on his hind legs, front paws against the edge of the table as he sniffed at the delectable aroma.

"I thought rabbits didn't eat meat," Jack said, and picked Aster up and away from the table. He didn't whine, though he wanted to. It'd been forever since he'd had a proper chicken soup!

One of the yeti mumbled something to Larisa, who laughed.

"That one's father does," she said. Jack raised his eyebrows. "Apparently he can be quite the carnivore when given half the chance."

"Well..." Jack frowned down at Aster. "Maybe a little soup?"

In short order, Aster was given his own bowl, sized to fit. And the soup was just as good as it smelt, maybe better. He had two servings.

Just as well, because the next dish was fish. He couldn't abide seafood. Sure, the Earth stuff mostly wasn't poisonous, but he hadn't grown up on Earth. Fish, especially the colourful ones, still gave him the cold chills.

It should have figured that Jack demolished the dish, leaving nothing but bones picked clean and a few crumbs. And then only because he refrained from licking the plate.

After that was a salad, which Aster happily partook of, and Jack ate just as thoroughly as he'd done the fish, though with less gusto. Then something Aster didn't recognize; not feeling adventurous enough to try any part of the meal, he simply watched Jack. The winter sprite paused after his first bite, before thoughtfully eating the rest of the meal.

"A little spicy, wasn't it?" he asked. One of the yeti gave him a glass of milk.

The main dish turned out to be beef, and Aster nearly jumped onto the table to get his share. His antics made Jack laugh, a low chuckle that made his fur stand up along his spine. A problem - but not one to dwell on while enjoying a perfectly cooked roast beef! Jack also had new potatoes, a small bowl of steaming peas with melting butter overtop, and mixed, steamed greens to contend with, but Aster was just as pleased with his smaller portion. In this shape, he had a smaller stomach to deal with... and he was quickly becoming full.

He opted out of the last of the dishes, until desert. The choices were between some kind of apple pastry, too fancy to be a 'mere' apple pie, and a caramel custard. Jack went with the apple, Aster chose the custard, and proceeded to get far too much of it on his whiskers.

But oh, it tasted _good_.

Aster burped, and began to groom himself in the way of a common cat; swiping his paw over his face, then licking his paw clean and repeating the process as many times as it took. He settled down in Jack's lap, full of good food and the contentment that came from just that, and contemplated a nap.

"I believe I have an idea where you should start looking," Larisa said.

Aster opened his eyes and looked at her.

Right. Nap on hold, then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in THIS late chapter (I'm sorry) Jack meets the Mrs. Claus, the plot moves, and Bunny isn't quite as terrified of flying if it's with Jack. How that will work out should he become normal sized, I don't know, but I'm giggling at the mental images.
> 
> Also, writing Pitch in chapter eleven... You won't be the only ones who want to kill him, promise.


	8. Chapter 8

Larisa settled back in her chair, and accepted a glass of amber-tinted liquid from a yeti. Another glass was offered to Jack; he smelt the alcohol, even if he couldn't place what kind it was, and politely refused. He couldn't get drunk, and didn't like the taste, and that would have to be that.

"I would like to start by explaining that I don't know much about the spirit world," she said. She paused to stare into her glass, and seemed to choose her words carefully. "I am mortal. And while there is some... leeway, in that I am taking the place of a myth, it only goes so far."

Jack nodded. Well, it wasn't like he knew anything about it, either! For all that he was a spirit, even by some standards an older one, his monthly condition had left him something of a self-imposed hermit. Besides, those spirits with enhanced senses tended to avoid him once they deciphered his scent and figured him out as a werewolf, while the other spirits tended to stay away because he was a winter sprite. The remaining spirits, well... Between one thing and another, he didn't have much chance to talk to them often, or really wanted to.

So he didn't really know many of the unspoken rules of spirit-hood; it'd been decades before he'd found out only people who _believed_ in a spirit could see or hear that spirit.

As for the people who could see spirits... Jack frowned a little. Supposedly shamans and magic users could, but Jack had never met any that he knew of, and neither had any of the spirits who'd spoken on the subject.

"I do not know the major players," Larisa said, and Jack dragged his attention back to the matter at hand. "I have not even met my husband's companions, these other 'Guardians of Children'. Nor his enemies. But, I know what business he left on. Several of the yeti overheard... things."

Jack raised his eyebrows at her arch look. "You mean, their kidnapping me?" he asked. Silver stirred in the back of his mind, a black and nasty rage beginning to simmer.

"That, too," she agreed. "I will say only this: my husband is an idiot."

Silver calmed down, and even felt faintly amused. Jack couldn't find the same amount of humour in the situation - and observation - as his wolf did, but he smiled all the same. "You said it first. So, now that the disclaimer's out of the way...?"

"According to the yeti, you should start with Pitch Black. However..." She raised one finger. "While I have no idea who else might move on a show of weakness, it is always possible someone else took advantage while they were distracted by Black."

Jack nodded, and carefully shifted Joey off his lap, and into his arms. "They didn't seem very, well... good with tactics - ow! Joey! What the..." He checked his finger, but Joey had only pinched the skin, not broken it. Still. "What was that for?"

The rabbit sniffed, and refused to meet Jack's eye, even when he twisted and did his best to tie his spine in a pretzel. What had gotten into the little guy? Stomach ache?

Well, whatever it was... Jack shook his head. Kids.

He flexed his hand, and looked back up at Larisa. "What was I saying?"

She smiled. "You were speaking on their tactics."

"Yeah." Jack quickly gathered his thoughts. "Well, to start off with... they didn't have a leader. Or, Santa and the Easter Bunny seemed to be competing for the post? I mean, the whole 'shove Jack in a sack and throw him through a magic portal' was admittedly Santa's idea, but the way they acted and stood?" He shook his head. "So there's a lack of cohesion, clear direction. And a good pa- a good group of friends, they don't..."

He had no idea how to put it into words. Sure, he'd seen it, and Silver knew it instinctively, but... How did he explain the little differences in stance and tone of voice that, to him, screamed louder than a heavy metal band with the speakers turned up to ten.

"They're not friends," he finally said. Sure, they all had different jobs, but... friends didn't ignore each other, right? Their body language was warmer.

It was so hard to put his finger on, even in his own thoughts. But remembering the way they'd all stood, talked - or not talked - to each other...

No, the Guardians weren't friends. Or, for the most part, friendly.

Of course he could be wrong, he knew that, but he didn't think he was.

"What makes you say that?" Larisa asked.

Jack shook his head. "Little things, on an instinctive level," he said. "I can't, I don't know... I can't just point at any one thing, but..."

After a minute, where he didn't continue speaking, Larisa cleared her throat. "I would have to agree with you," she said. "I have been married to Nikolai since nineteen-ninety, and I have not met the ones he calls friends. He is not ashamed of me," she added, and flicked her fingers in dismissal. "I do not believe he is ashamed of them. He simply does not _think_ of them."

Jack nodded, and sighed. "So it'd be really easy to play on that dynamic, or lack of it," he said. "And I don't think they'd fight very well at each other's backs. They'd be... it'd be like a bunch of cats in a group, instead of a pack of dogs. Cats fight on their own, dogs fight together."

"Dogs," she agreed, "Or... wolves?"

Jack met her gaze, and smiled. "Canines in general?" he suggested, and told Silver that they couldn't transform anyways, so there wasn't any point in that sort of game.

Joey shifted, and Jack's attention was immediately drawn to the rabbit. He soothed the little guy as best as he could, but whatever mood Joey had been in - he'd bit Jack! Right on the finger! - seemed to have passed.

"So you will start with Pitch Black?" Larisa said, drawing the conversation back on track.

"I'd been planning to." Jack frowned. "Though... it'd be interesting to find out who's behind those black-sand horses. They're not spirits that I've ever heard of, not that I know a lot of people..."

Larisa shook her head. "Black horses that spread bad dreams? Think as a child. Night- _mares_ , Jack."

Well, didn't he feel stupid.

"Sandman must've kept them corralled or something," Jack said. Well. That explained the black-sand - no, the _night-mares_. They must be created by a child's bad dream, and then spread by infecting more dreamers, increasing their population. Phantasms, probably, the least powerful fear-eaters, with the lowest intelligence.

He'd run across a few other phantasms, and the odd poltergeist, and either ran them out of his 'territory', or destroyed them. It wasn't too crazy an idea that a phantasm would want to go forth an multiply. Everyone else seemed to.

It didn't explain the Shenlob though...

Jack frowned, and then surprised himself with a loud yawn. He blinked down at Joey, who peered up at him in curiosity.

"Huh," he said, and stroked one velvety soft rabbit ear.

"You said you were running yourself ragged." Larisa drummed her fingers against the chair arm, and then snapped her fingers. A yeti stepped forward, and bent down to listen to a quiet voiced - and Russian - order, before nodding and lumbering off to do... whatever. Jack peered after it, before looking back at the mortal, and raising his eyebrows in question.

"If you are going to do _anything_ , it will be after a good night's rest," she said. "I have ordered a guest room prepared for you."

Jack frowned. "I don't need -"

"No," she said, interrupting him. Silver watched her from behind Jack's eyes, just a little too calm for comfort. "But I wish to aid you, yes? This is one of the few ways I can."

He thought about arguing, but. He was tired. And he bet the room came with food, which wasn't something he'd turn his nose up at.

"Yeah, alright," he decided. "The window opens, right?"

* * *

What even was this?

Silver turned the stuffed... animal... over and over, and gave Jack careful nudges until their human half 'woke' up. Jack had been contemplating mayhem and the merits of blowing up that ugly car they both hated, but that was a bad thing. Apparently.

_"What is it?"_ Jack asked, and Silver nodded to the plush toy. _"Oh. That's a platypus. We need to go to the zoo."_

_"Animals afraid,"_ Silver reminded him, and put the platypus down. Evening was in control of the sky, with night rapidly taking over. This was a child's bedroom, suggesting there would be a child going to sleep soon. Children sleeping would bring out the night-mares. It was all very simple and straight forward.

The only thing that wasn't simple and straight forward was figuring out how to fight the night-mares. Jack and Silver had run through their shared memories of previous fights, and come to the conclusion that physically fighting didn't work very well. The horses didn't _die_ , after all; they were sand. Physically overpowering the night-mares made them lose cohesion, and they couldn't hurt the children for the night - probably - but they came back.

Jack thought hitting the nightmares with snowballs, their special ones that made everyone laugh, might work. Silver thought the snowballs would take too much energy to be effective in the long term. Besides, there was no guarantee that a snowball to the face would kill the horses, and that's what they needed to do.

He hadn't come to a conclusion by the time the girl came back to her room.

Jack had chosen one of the children he knew best - Jack thought the girl was named Cupcake, Silver thought he was crazy - because... well, because he _did_ know these children best. He would fight for any child, of course he would, but for one that he knew? One he'd played with, watched grow up for the few short years so far? There were a lot of children in Burgess, but this one was one of the special ones.

And for one of the special ones, he'd move mountains.

Even though Silver thought that was a stupid vow.

Why would anyone need a mountain moved, anyways? Mountains tended to be happy where they were... He snorted and shook his head. It didn't matter.

Cupcake dragged her feet as she approached the bed, until she finally took a flying leap onto the mattress. Once safely on top, she peered over the edge, looking nervous about the space underneath. Jack frowned at that; monsters under the bed?

Eh, if there was anything there, he could always just eat it.

Of course, if there was anything there... Jack frowned, and Silver thought about child predators and licked his lips. Nasty things that hid under beds and in closets deserved to be made into an example for the world. And then the choice bits eaten.

The yeti had provided him with a full meal before he'd gone out, but he was still hungry. Peckish, at least.

Joey had been left behind, with Larisa. Jack hadn't wanted to, and he already missed the little rabbit's warmth against his stomach, but a battleground was no place for a baby, or toddler, or whatever age Joey was. He was out here to protect kids, he wasn't about to endanger one just because he didn't have anyone to cuddle.

He sulked through Cupcake's bedroom routine, which consisted of a chapter from a book that, quite frankly, did not sound appropriate for a young child! Some guy ended up with a pot of molten gold dumped on his head, killing him, but only after he'd threatened his pregnant sister with a sword.

As inappropriate for a young child as it sounded, Jack kind of wanted to get a copy for himself. It sounded interesting... for an _adult_.

Silver laughed at him, and then they alerted to movement overhead.

The nightmares were arriving.

The black-sand horses milled about in the streets, waiting for children to fall asleep. Jack suspected the children were reluctant to drift off, having nothing but nightmares to expect once they'd closed their eyes. Unfortunately, they didn't have much of a choice; exhaustion dragged them under quickly enough.

Jack stayed where he was, just out of sight from the window - second-story porches and deck furniture were a gift from a hunt-god - and watched as a night-mare raced up the air to Cupcake's window, and ducked inside.

At the first whimper, he stole around the furniture, and over to the windowsill.

The black-sand horse was entirely focused on the girl, paying no heed to the winter spirit that stole up behind it. Jack readied his weapon in one hand, and then threw it as hard as he could.

The snowflake hit Cupcake in the nose, and burst into blue sparkles that sank into her skin, into the black sand, and made the horse react like it'd been electrocuted.

Jack had to actually pause and just watch the night-mare's gymnastics, because he'd expected a reaction, but not one like _this_. Between the flailing - and limbs weren't supposed to bend that way, even though the night-mare didn't have bones - and the shuddering, it was actually hard to see exactly what was happening.

And then the horse exploded into a cloud of golden... stuff. Sand.

It'd gotten into his _mouth_.

It tasted _disgusting_.

He spat outside the window, and took a quick look around the room. The golden sand - it looked familiar - covered everything in a fine film. Or a dusting. Whatever the proper term was for sand and lightly covering everything; Jack had more important things to worry about than how to describe things to Larisa later. But the sand was moving, which was eerie to watch in a way the black-sand horses weren't, gathering up and floating into the air.

Cupcake was smiling in her sleep.

Jack tilted his head, the better to study that tiny little smile, and the golden image forming over her head, made out of golden sand...

Golden sand?

Jack hit himself in the head with his staff. Golden sand! Dream-sand! The Sandman's... thing. He looked out the window again, and huffed. _"That explains the sudden increase in black horses,"_ he told Silver.

The werewolf didn't reply verbally, but he felt like frustration and amusement. Fair enough, Jack felt much the same way. It just figured, didn't it? No Sandman around to keep the night-mares in check, and suddenly they're running around everywhere. It looked like the black sand they were made up out of was really dream-sand, just... twisted.

Definitely a phantasm, he decided, and checked on Cupcake.

Five minutes later he was heading to the next house, a bright pink bag hanging at his side. He had a double-handful of the dream-sand in the bag. The obnoxiously bright color was made up for, a little, by the happy looking unicorns prancing all over.

Now, how many other night-mares could he turn back into dream-sand?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently Monday is now my post date I don't even know. I blame work. Ugh. But yeah, some talking, some action, some hints of what's to come... Woohoo!


	9. Chapter 9

"Ugh." Jack dropped down onto the bed, the freakishly puffy duvet making an odd 'whomp' sound as the air was forced out from it. Or at least the part of it beneath one scrawny little werewolf, Aster thought.

Jack didn't look like he was going to start moving. Aster felt safe - and more importantly, perfectly justified - in turning his back on the werewolf and going back to his personal grooming. Mind, he was stuck with what amounted to licking his hands and then rubbing the damp over his face, but still. That... actually wasn't too unusual for Pooka. Baths were a sometimes thing, while a quick wipe with a spit-slicked hand could set right the worst bed-head.

"Now I know why the Sandman's always falling asleep on people," Jack mumbled, sounding more than halfway to the Land of Nod himself. "'zausting," was the next word Aster could make up. Exhausting? Without enunciation. He chanced a look back at Jack, who was...

Was...

... Well. Jack was just looking all kinds of adorable.

One foot dangled off the side of the bed, his toes pointed towards the closed door. He'd covered his eyes with his arm - the one opposite of the dangling foot, Aster was amused to note - and his sweater had pulled up enough to reveal a line of pale skin just above the waist of his pants. He looked charming and innocent, like a young boy poised on the cusp of adult-hood and a loss of innocence.

What he really was, was a deadly and powerful beast, that could turn into a slavering and out-of-control monster at any time.

Except Aster was pretty sure slavering monsters didn't tend what they thought were baby Pooka. Especially not when they thought their charity case was their enemy's child.

It was interesting, though, getting this look at Jack. All of their previous encounters had been limited, consisting of a winter spirit Aster had considered armed and dangerous and just a little crazy. Not to mention the stalking. Pooka hadn't evolved from a prey species, no matter the resemblance to earth rabbits, but no one liked being followed and watched like that. It'd been creepy.

But this Jack... When had he become a werewolf? After their last meeting, back in '68, right? That'd been a doozy, and he'd actually worried a bit when his hands had ended up iced to a tree. Jack circling him like that, grinning and twirling that stick, hadn't helped.

He'd felt pinned down and hunted, and... actually, Jack had probably been a werewolf back then, too, to trigger Aster's instincts the way he'd done.

It'd certainly explain the crazy he'd excluded, like body heat.

And the way Aster's skin had crawled as a result.

Now that he was thinking about them, werewolves reminded him a great deal - a _great_ deal - of Kelpie. Even when Kelpies had existed, along with the rest of his people and planet, Aster hadn't wanted to think of them much. They were frightening, in a way Pitch and the fearlings and their ilk could _never_ be.

A Kelpie looked just like everyone else, until they didn't. Pooka became Kelpies through a curse - cannibalism, instead of being savaged - and they transformed. Not with the moon; the Pookan homeworld had _been_ a moon, one of several orbiting a gas giant which among other things had made the seasons a bit odd by human standards. No, Kelpie had changed at will and with the mother-planet's proximity to the sun.

There wasn't much a Pooka could do to a Kelpie, not much that'd last at any rate. They healed magically fast, they were bigger and stronger than any Pooka alive - even Aster on chocolate would be unable to match the smallest Kelpie - and they were constantly hungry.

Just like werewolves.

Except for Jack, apparently. Jack had been gentle with Aster in his reduced state, and even when Aster had been _himself_ , he'd been rough but not... not _nasty_. Exactly. He'd never drawn blood and while their occasional run ins might have been unnerving, Jack had apparently been very careful not to go over some invisible line of conduct.

It was very strange, and it was staring to give him a headache.

He looked back over at Jack again, and frowned. Jack didn't look like a werewolf, occasional red eyes aside. He was scrawny, as Aster had already noted, and short. His shoulders might have been nice... After a minute Aster dragged his mind back onto task. Jack didn't look like a werewolf.

He looked like a sprite, if only because he seemed vaguely see-through. Because he was so pale, Aster decided. If Jack wasn't wearing clothes, there'd be almost no color to him.

It took another minute to stop wondering what Jack without clothes _would_ look like. Invisible, he decided, feeling a bit warm under his fur. Especially if Jack was running around in the nude in the _snow_. He'd vanish against the pale flakes and he was going to _stop thinking about Jack being naked right now_.

Aster sighed, and wiped one paw along his ear. That was it. Once he was himself again, once he'd figured out how to get back to his proper size, he was going to bite the bullet and meet a few nice spirits. Maybe get rid of his virginity. Obviously, if he was thinking about naked werewolves, it was past time he found out what sex with a partner was like.

Since his treacherous brain refused to get off the topic, Aster decided the better course of valour involved curling up on Jack's chest and trying to sleep.

Jack shifted when the Pooka made himself comfortable, and then one hand, surprisingly big and warm, rested against Aster's back. He hummed, or tried to, and closed his eyes.

He woke up because the ground was a surprisingly large distance from the top of the bed like this.

Aster hit the floorboards and couldn't even curse about falling out of bed. And then he had to scramble out of the way when Jack came tumbling after.

He ended up under the bed, with nowhere else to go. Jack was - Jack was convulsing. Did werewolves get seizures? Or -

Jack made a... a sound. Aster stopped breathing. That was... not a good sound.

Was the moon full? He thought the moon was full.

Oh. The moon was full. And Jack was a werewolf.

That was... not good.

Jack made the sound again, a low, breathy grunt that on its own wouldn't have meant anything. A stubbed toe. Waking up too early. Being out of peanut butter. It was that sort of sound, one Aster had made many a time when he'd found a rotten Easter egg hidden in a hard-to-reach place.

The werewolf began to claw at his sweater, reducing it to rags, and then scraps, in seconds. His pants quickly followed. Aster stared, as the skin on Jack's thighs split, blood leaking from the wounds, even as the skin healed back together and started to become furry.

Jack hissed, and something in his shoulder popped. Aster could hear bones breaking, a foot or a hand, he wasn't sure. Probably a hand; he could see Jack's feet and nothing was happening to them yet.

The fur on Jack's legs began to retreat, even as his feet began to break and stretch. One foot became a proper paw, the other began to shift back into a foot.

Jack had a - half a muzzle, his lower jaw jutting forward in a way that - no. Aster looked away from Jack's face, and the way his skull was warping back and forth, clear liquid leaking from Jack's visible ear and both eyes.

Blood and worse smeared the wooden floor, and Aster spared a thought to hope the yeti had varnished recently. Otherwise that'd be one stain that would never go away.

Aster had seen a lot before, blood and gore being the least of it. He was a warrior by training, and humans weren't the only species that liked blood. Pooka'd had their wars, and every field on that planet had been watered by Pookan blood. Humans were still learning how to kill each other compared to the Pooka, and that wasn't even counting the fearlings and dream pirates.

This, though.

This wasn't war. It wasn't a battle. It was just one person, who looked like a - like a _kid_ , really - thrashing and biting back screams as his body split and broke and healed and broke again.

Aster had to look away. A Pookan warrior had a strong stomach as a matter of course, but this was beyond his stomach.

Why wasn't Jack transforming properly? Was he fighting it? He'd never heard of a werewolf fighting the moon like this. He wouldn't have thought it possible.

Except it went on and on. Seconds felt like hours and hours felt like seconds, it seemed; Aster had no real idea how long he watched Jack thrash and bleed. The room began to stink, urine and feces mixing with the blood and plasma discharge. Aster cringed for Jack's dignity, and backed further under the bed.

After what felt like forever, it finally stopped. Jack slumped down, and the last few changes reversed until he looked like a human. One that'd been run through a wringer, covered in sweat and blood and other, less pleasant things, but human. No open wounds, no thrashing, no bones breaking on their own as they were reshaped by magic.

Aster crept out from under the bed, and paused at the edge of the blood pool. There was... quite a bit of blood, actually. At least a litre, maybe two. A good bit of it was painting Jack's skin, but the rest of it was liquid and tacky, a fairly deep and large puddle around Jack's prone form. More blood had been soaked up by the fabric scraps.

He tried to call Jack's name, and managed an anaemic wheeze. It somehow caught the werewolf's attention, all the same.

Dull red eyes cracked open, and then Jack turned his head and looked at Aster. He seemed to try talking, but he had about as much success as Aster. After a minute, he stopped trying and his eyes closed again.

Passed out? Aster wondered. He hopped around the blood, going as fast as his legs could carry him, to the door. It was closed, and the handle was far out of reach... if he was an actual rabbit. Being Pooka - and apart from his voice and size, fully healed - it was not out of the question.

Even better, there was an ornamental table meant for nothing more than nick-knacks and a surprisingly attractive lamp, right next to the door. Aster was able to hop up onto the table, and from there hop to the door latch. The door cracked open, and he dropped to the floor and pushed it open with his head.

It took some doing to get a yeti's attention, and the thing didn't even understand what he was trying to do until he'd lead it back to the borrowed room. Once the yeti caught sight of Jack, at least, it snapped into emergency mode.

Aster reminded himself, not for the first time, to find some way to learn yeti preferred pronouns. If there were any. They could be one of those groups that didn't find 'it' demeaning...

He turned his attention back to Jack. It'd taken fifteen, twenty minutes to get a yeti here. He didn't look any better for the waiting, but he also didn't look any worse. That was good, right?

Aster had no idea.

The yeti he'd led to the room bellowed for several more, and they came running. In two minutes, one yeti had turned into five, four of whom seemed to have medical training. Aster kept near the wall while the yeti worked, unable to see anything for the giant, furry things blocking his view.

There was a low growl, one that got marginally louder as the yeti worked. Aster's fur began to stand on end. Then, one of the yeti did something - touched Jack? - and the growl turned into a roar. The yeti fell back, one after the other clutching at their faces and moaning in pain.

Jack was suddenly visible. He crouched in the middle of the blood pool, one knee on the ground and both arms shaking as they braced against the floor. He looked utterly feral, his pale skin and white hair turned crimson with blood, his eyes glowing in the shadows under his brows. He'd fallen back to growling, the steady rumble seeming endless, as if he didn't need to breathe.

He looked horrible, and magnificent.

Aster crept forward, unable to help himself. Now he knew why rabbits would hold still and watch their death 'dance' forward. The rabbits had to feel the same way about the on-coming stoats as Aster felt about Jack; that as horrible as it was, as dangerous and as deadly, it was just too fascinating to turn away.

"What is - Jack!"

Aster froze, halfway to Jack and only just realizing it. A little closer and he'd have been in arm's reach!

He turned, and stared at Larisa. She stood framed in the doorway, some kind of pistol in hand. It was pointed at the floor, but he was pretty sure it was one of those newer models that didn't need cocked before firing.

Jack's growl got louder again. His teeth, when he showed them, were human-blunt but bloody.

"Jack," Larisa said, sounding strangely calm, considering Jack had given three yeti bloody noses and one a black eye. "Jack, you are upsetting Joey." Wait, what? "You need to calm down."

Aster sat up on his haunches and frowned at Larisa. He wasn't _afraid_. Upset, yes, but he'd watched Jack... bleed... all night. But he wasn't upset because Jack was upset.

Yet the claim seemed to work. Jack's growl dipped in volume, and he stopped showing his teeth. His gaze shifted from Larisa, to Aster, and back again. After several back-and-forth looks, he seemed to settle down. Or stopped growling, at least, though he gave one yeti - less cautious or less observant or just less intelligent than the rest - a filthy look when the yeti reached for him.

"Jack," Larisa said. Aster heard her walk forward, slow and careful, but didn't look away from the werewolf. "What happened?"

Jack snarled, but the rage twisting his face subsided when he looked down at Aster again. "The moon," he rasped, sounding... horrible. Aster's throat closed up in sympathy. He couldn't remember the last time he'd heard someone - anyone - else sound that bad.

"The moon?" Larisa repeated.

"Werewolf. Transform. Except cannot. Stuck." Jack glared at the yeti, at Larisa, and at the table lamp. Aster was fairly certain the werewolf's eyes weren't focusing properly. And stuck? What did that even mean?

"Last night was the full moon?" Jack nodded. "And you... you tried to transform, but couldn't?"

"Forced," Jack explained. The single word seemed to exhaust him.

"Forced to transform then. Except you couldn't."

Jack held up one hand. It shook like an aspen leaf in a high wind. "Partway. Then back. Then again. All night."

"I see." Aster checked what the yeti were doing while Larisa clearly searched for words. They'd retreated towards the doorway, but hadn't actually gone through into the hallway. Their expressions were difficult, even for him, to read, but they seemed... concerned and sympathetic, he decided.

"Jack, is there anything we can do to help?"

The werewolf growled and shook his head in the negative.

Larisa nodded in reply. "Then perhaps you should take a shower? The yeti will clean the floor and bring you food. What would you like?"

Jack seemed to consider that for a moment, and then shoved himself up onto his feet. "Lots," he said. Then he stumbled to the attached bathroom. Aster had to scurry to get through the door before Jack closed it, and he had to cross through the blood to do it. It splattered. There was some on his nose. And a lot on his feet.

Jack grunted, and looked down at him. "Are you?" he asked. After a moment, he seemed to realize that he had to use more words than that, because he added, "Alright?"

Aster tried to reply, but of course his throat still hadn't healed enough for sounds. He settled for setting back on his haunches and nodding.

"Well. At least. You understand." Jack cleared his throat, and turned to study the bathtub. "Wait for clean."

Jack must have been exhausted. Aster slumped down onto all fours. It'd been bad enough watching, last night. How much worse must it have been to experience it?

He'd never been caught by the enemy, never tortured. He'd seen those who had been, though. If rescued early enough, they usually seemed... fine, considering. Battered, hurt, but not wary. If they weren't rescued right away, if they were in the enemy's hands too long - and that could easily be a day, when the enemy was the Fearlings, able to get into your head and _do things_ \- well. Jack reminded him of those victims.

There were twelve full moons a year. More if Jack wandered, which he'd probably done at some point. How long had he been a werewolf? How many full moons had he gone through?

Aster thought about the cave Jack apparently lived in, and whined. Silently, thankfully, because if Jack knew, he'd be... upset? Yes. Upset.

It was just, the image of Jack in that cave, alone, during a full moon. And after. Here there was the shower, that Jack used to quickly scrub down in while the bath filled. Here there were yeti cleaning up in the bedroom, no doubt laying out fresh clothing afterwards. Here there would be food, no doubt a twelve course breakfast once the kitchen staff heard what'd happened overnight.

In the cave, there wasn't much of anything.

Except nothing. There was a lot of nothing.

Jack stepped out of the shower, naked and dripping and looking unmarked by the trauma of last night. Aster swallowed, unable to look away. Water dripped down Jack's body in rivulets, except where it began to freeze and turn into a layer of frost over his skin. It was. Well.

It was visually pleasing. Jack was - Jack was quite the specimen of human. Werewolf. Spirit. One of those. His proportions were right. Just right. A bit skinny - far too skinny - but the way he moved seemed to negate the ribs showing and the jutting hip bones. Those hip bones. Aster stared at Jack's hips, which were beautiful and narrow where his shoulders were broad, and licked his lips.

Jack turned, muscle and tendon flexing under his skin, oh his skin, while he checked the tub. He moved so gracefully, even when he was still in clear pain. He moved like a dancer, Aster decided, ballet. He had the limbs for it. Long and slender, and moving just _so_.

When Jack bent over to turn off the tub, Aster finally looked away. It was a struggle, but he prevailed. When Jack looked at him again, he was studying the shelving full of towels. At least there was one good thing about being stuck in this tiny form; there was nothing embarrassing for Jack to see when he picked Aster up. Certain things that, as an adult Pooka and a buck he had to shift away to avoid traumatizing children, that he also did not currently have.

And thank El-Ahrairah for that, after that last train of thought!

"Here, let's wash you off."

Baths were... not fun for someone with fur. Thankfully Jack seemed to realize that. Instead of dumping Aster in the tub, Jack set him on the counter next to the sink instead. It was still big enough to serve as a tub anyways, with his current size, but much more manageable. Jack didn't make him soak in the water, either. Instead he ran the water at lukewarm, and didn't make Aster go in the sink. Jack wet his hands, and then scrubbed at the blood in Aster's fur, but that was it.

He still got wet. Actually, soaked. But it wasn't as bad as submersing himself in liquid would have been. Baths were probably more enjoyable when you didn't feel like your skin was coming off. Aster shook himself, and tolerated the large, fluffy towel Jack wrapped around him. And maybe snuggled in.

The towel was warm, and he was cold, with his fur all wet and slicked down against his body. Snuggling into the blanket was a perfectly appropriate move.

Jack slipped into the bath, and groaned with what sounded like relief.

"I needed this," he murmured, and glanced over at Aster. The red was leaving his eyes. "Gonna nap, okay Joey?"

Aster hummed silently, and curled up a little better under the towel. A nap sounded good. Neither of them had gotten much sleep last night.

And if his dreams were full of pale skin glittering with frost, and broad shoulders narrowing to a trim waist, well... He certainly couldn't tell anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, fun chapter, yes? Things have been discovered. Alas, we're slowly catching up to where I'm working on new chapters - between my work schedule last month being all over the place and yay illness this weekend, the only bright side has been posting on time. Because I didn't work yesterday, and I didn't work today. Woohoo!


	10. Chapter 10

Silver was close under his skin when he entered the dining room. The side table piled high with a buffet of foods wasn't enough to distract him from the way the yeti, elves, and Larisa were all watching him. If not for the slightly damp, rather warm bundle of Joey in his arms, Jack probably would have bolted for the nearest window and _run_.

Joey pressed a cold nose under Jack's chin, whiskers tickling the sensitive skin as he snuffled. Jack huffed, and felt Silver settle, just a little. He tickled Joey behind one long ear in thanks.

"Eat first," Larisa commanded. She faltered, just a touch, when Silver leapt forward at the command. The wolf stared until she dropped her eyes. "You look like you could use some food."

Silver rolled the idea back and forth in his mind, before nodding. "Yes," he agreed. And it was good that she'd backed down. Silver didn't like orders. Jack didn't either. But Jack didn't want to hurt someone who had offered them food and safety for sleeping. Silver didn't care.

It was better that the woman yield to him now, so he didn't upset Jack.

He moved over to the food, and after a moment's study, looked down at Joey. The young rabbit didn't seem bothered by his red eyes. Rather, Joey seemed disinclined to leave his arms. That was... nice, Silver decided. Even when they'd been - Jack said 'mortal' as Silver thought 'alive' - the village children had been somewhat wary of the large 'dog' that belonged to the Overland family. Only his sister had sought out his company, and contact.

And now Joey.

It made his insides warm.

"You choose," he told Joey. "What to eat?"

The young rabbit gifted him with another snuffle at his neck, and then studied the offerings at hand. Silver expected they would eat most of it anyways, and Jack agreed. Besides, he was fairly certain he could smell breakfast fish somewhere - _"Kippers,"_ Jack told him - and it was making his mouth water.

He liked fish. Especially when the scales and bones crunched between his teeth.

Joey chose eggs and toast, orange marmalade and bread that had been soaked in more eggs and then fried. There was bacon, crispy enough to crunch but not enough that it'd burned, and thick slices of ham. And the breakfast fish was all Silver's, because Joey made a 'yuck' face at the sight of them.

"Mine, then," he told the baby rabbit, and adjusted his hold until he could carry Joey and the tray to the table. He chose the best seat, one where his back was closest to the wall, and where he could watch both doors and the big windows.

Only after he'd sat down and started eating, offering Joey the choicest bits first, did the others move to get their own meals. Silver kept part of his attention on them, judging the amount of food left when they were done. Enough, he decided. It was good to eat as much as he could while it was available. He and Jack were too used to the lean times.

It had been different before, he remembered, suddenly wistful. Grace's cooking, and the meat he caught when hunting... The vegetables grown in the garden, and the treats his father went out to buy with the money the furs brought them. He'd never gone hungry, then. Not even in winter, because he was a good hunter. Good enough that they could even share with the other villagers.

Joey stopped eating long before Silver was ready to, but that was alright. Smaller body, smaller stomach. He stroked a hand over Joey's back, pleased when the little one started to push up into the contact. Then he turned his attention back to the food. Especially the fish, which crunched and tasted of warm oil and flaking white flesh. He licked his fingers clean after every bite, it was _so_ good.

He went back for more food, and then a third time. Only then did he sit back from the table, stomach feeling very full and almost uncomfortable. Jack snickered, and took over, letting Silver go back and rest.

Jack stretched, feeling very happy with himself. He gathered Joey up in his arms, and the baby rabbit draped over his chest, seeming just as pleased. Only when he'd gotten the two of them as comfortable as they were going to get, did he obviously turn his attention back to the others in the room.

"So," he said, and raised his eyebrows.

* * *

Aster didn't like it, but swallowing his pride and cuddling up with Jack was really the best choice available. He could hear the werewolf's heartbeat, feel his respiration, the tension in Jack's muscles... Everything told him that while Aster was in physical contact with Jack, the werewolf was calmer. Not exactly _calm_ , but better than when Aster had been perched on the table to eat.

He pressed his nose to Jack's throat again, testing the werewolf's scent. He had no idea what he was looking for, or how he'd recognize it when he found it, but... it was still good to check.

And the way Jack twitched every time he did it was almost... funny.

Larisa cleared her throat, and Aster cracked one eye open to study her. She looked serious enough, and while her heart was racing, there was no sign of it in her posture or expression.

"What happened last night, Jack?" she asked.

Jack tensed underneath Aster, his breath quieting but also speeding up. "Last night?"

"During the full moon."

The werewolf curled his upper lip, and covered Aster's back with one hand. Were Jack's hands always so large? Or maybe Aster was smaller... no, that couldn't be right.

"Last night was the full moon. I am a werewolf. _Think_ about it."

Aster frowned, and pressed his nose under Jack's chin. It made the werewolf shiver, but didn't ease the tension. There wasn't much he could do, though if it came to it, there were always his teeth and claws. Actual rabbits could do a bit of damage with those, and aimed by a working mind, he could probably do a bit worse.

If he needed to.

He hoped he didn't.

Larisa shifted, the corduroy of her jacket rubbing against the velvet seat cushion. "Werewolves transform into wolves on the full moon. Did you transform? At all?"

Jack growled. By rights, the crystal glasses should have been trembling from the resonating sound, but when Aster checked, they were still. Disappointing, really. "No," Jack allowed, after an unsettling minute. "I didn't."

Aster chanced a look back over his shoulder. The elves were swarming the remains of the buffet, ensuring that not a single crumb went uneaten. The yeti, being more observant - or less focused on the food - looked nervous. Larisa looked far too calm to actually be calm, and Aster remembered the mortal gun she'd carried earlier.

"Why not?"

Jack went suddenly lax, and shifted until he was sprawled in the chair, not just comfortably settled in it. "Well now, Mrs. Claus," he said, the underlying growl almost a purr, "I would have to say that's none of your business, isn't it? I apologize about the floor."

_That_ made the woman sit up in worry. "If it's something resulting from being here," she began.

Jack cut her off with an upraised hand. "No. It's not." The aura of _calm_ he'd been projecting faltered, as he turned enough to glower out the window. "No, it's because I'm a spirit. Not your doing. _Also_ not your business."

After a moment, the mortal woman nodded, and sat back in her chair. Pookan eyesight enabled him to see her white knuckles, but he doubted anyone else would notice.

Jack probably had _other_ ways of noticing her unease.

"Are we done?" the werewolf growled. He didn't even wait for a reply, just shoved up and away from the chair and stalked out of the room, moving fast enough that - if one ignored the obvious rage - he could have been said to be _running_.

Jack carried them back to the room he'd been given, no doubt for lack of other options. Except for outside, and Aster didn't really want to go out there. It was cold, for one thing.

After a bit of pacing back and forth in front of the bed, Jack settled down on one corner. "Sorry, Joey," he said, and twisted his neck so he could press his nose into Aster's fur. "Sorry," he said again. "I just - what do I tell them? That this has been going on for three centuries? That I can't transform? That the moon took away part of my _self_?"

Jack shuddered, and took a deep breath. "Yeah, didn't think so. How do you feel about going with me tonight? I..."

His grip around Aster tightened. The werewolf whispered, but Aster had good hearing.

"I don't want to be alone right now."

Aster rested his chin on Jack's shoulder. He had a lot to think about.

* * *

He slept more than he liked, that night - and after. Aster could only assume it was the lack of belief children currently had in him. He'd thought, at first, that the flying would keep him awake, and if the heights didn't then Jack's bounding about like a crazed 'roo would be more than enough.

It wasn't.

He dozed through the northern Americas, dreamed through the south. Snored over Europe. Woke up long enough to admire the sunrise over the Serengeti. He slept more curled up in Jack's sweater pocket, tiny and close to fading out, than he'd done for a thousand years.

It was strange, and should have been worrying. It wasn't though, and it took him the longest time to figure out why.

The werewolf was always right there. Aster could sleep through the wildest flight in comfort, because Jack's hand would cup his back, warm even through the thick sweater. Between his current size, and the way he was curled up, and how he could hear and feel Jack's heart beat, his dreams were all hazy ones, of his earliest memories.

He got the oddest urges, sometimes, too. Like - he wanted to tell Jack that Pooka does had pouches, like 'roo mams. He wanted to explain how riding around in Jack's sweater pocket reminded him, subconsciously, of curling up in his mam's pouch, and -

Jack would probably laugh about it.

He did, sometimes. Aster didn't know about the times he was sleeping, but when he was awake, it was impossible not to pay attention.

Jack's face would light up. His eyes would glow, blue instead of red, lit with humour and life. His lips would curl, the corners lifting and his cheeks rounding out. He laughed with his whole body, whether it was curling up and quivering with delighted giggles, or throwing his back and laughing so loud and long it sounded like roaring. It was - _he_ was - so alive in that moment that the first time Aster saw Jack laugh, _really_ laugh, he about fell over.

Jack continued to use the North Pole as a place to retreat and sleep. Aster suspected it was the availability of food that had influenced the decision, as Jack ate like a starving wolf at every meal.

Of course, Jack's magic was hardly effortless. For every blue snowflake he used - Aster had no idea how a single snowflake could destroy a nightmare, but he was starting to form some basic theories - he spent as much effort as fighting the nightmare would have taken. It wearied him. He usually ended his night's effort with a town clear of nightmares and a double handful of golden sand, and was usually so tired he could barely fly back to the North Pole.

Aster found himself, more often than he cared to think about, in front of the small bag of dreamsand, wishing. If he were bigger, he could help. If he were bigger, if he could talk, he could offer advice, comfort. If he were bigger, he could gather Jack into his arms at the end of every night, and carry him back to the Warren. Take care of the werewolf, the way Jack wouldn't take care of himself.

The last time Jack had washed had been after the full moon. He didn't comb his hair, he didn't wash his face. As much as he ate, he remained so scrawny as to look nearly emaciated. He fought with the nightmares often enough that his sweater had dirt embedded in the fabric over his shoulders and down his back, and his knuckles were stained with dried blood and ground-in mud. His jeans had more holes in them than solid fabric.

What did he do, Aster found himself wondering, time and again. Wear his clothes until they fell off his body?

When the full moon came, Jack was prepared - as much as anyone could be, Aster supposed. He took off his clothes and moved to the shower, big enough for a small crowd of yeti. He tried to lock Aster out of the bathroom, but once the... Once it had started, Aster let himself in and stayed as close as he could get.

He wished he could take this monthly pain on his own shoulders. Jack was a person made for laughter, for dancing across the sky. Not for whisper-soft groans of pain, not for contorting against bathroom tiles as his body warped and twisted and shattered on him, only to heal and start all over again. Aster, though, Aster would take that pain and gladly.

After the sun rose, Jack caught his breath... or something... and the blood ran down the drain with filthy water. Jack washed, discovered the yeti had stolen his clothes, and swore a blue streak.

Aster had taken mental notes.

If the yeti hadn't left out a change of clothes, Aster was sure Jack would have torn the workshop apart with his bare hands. But they had, and Jack wore it, looking like a prince in butter-soft leather tanned the color of dark walnut, and a linen so fine and soft it felt like silk and looked like the purest of snow.

For one glorious day, Jack even managed to keep himself clean.

It was only when Aster found himself contemplating the streak of soot across Jack's cheek _fondly_ that he realized he had a problem.

Well, maybe not a problem, as such, but he didn't know how else to term it. Under any other situation, falling in love with Jack Frost probably wouldn't be so... complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! We're really quickly catching up to the in-progress chapters. In my defense, work kicked my butt - and then just as things settled down, Mom passed her pneumonia on to me. I'm almost done the Pill of Doom so yay to that, but I'm gonna have to write like a madwoman to stay ahead of the posting schedule.
> 
> And Bunny... Falling in love with Jack Frost is always complicated. Sucks to be you.


	11. Chapter 11

Jack perched on top of the CN tower like a gargoyle out of a Batman comic, and contemplated the city.

Downtown Toronto, Ontario, was a city that never slept - much like Manhattan, New York - though it did drowse at times. Out in Suburbia, though, all the little children had been tucked away in their beds, not quite as reluctant to sleep as a month earlier.

There weren't any night-mares in the area. Jack should have been pleased; it was the goal, after all, wasn't it? But if they weren't _here_ , then they were _somewhere else_ , and he'd have to chase them.

To say he was feeling annoyed about it was something of an understatement.

It had been a little over a month, now, and he was still chasing his tail dealing with these... sand-bodied phantasms! There hadn't been time or energy to search for the missing Guardians. He'd meant to, but how... how could he, how could _anyone_ , not move in when they heard a child cry out in fear? It wasn't possible for him to ignore it, it wasn't possible for Silver to ignore it, and when both sets of protective instincts combined...

Well, Jack generally found himself watching dawn rise over some unfamiliar town, utterly exhausted and barely able to stay upright.

If not for Joey, Jack probably would've spent his time collapsing wherever he stood, passing out until hunger roused him, and eating out of dumpsters. But he couldn't do that, not with Joey needing him. So he'd make the flight back to the North Pole, pass out there, gorge himself on awesome food, and then repeat the process all over again. Every time he started looking for the Guardians, he'd get distracted, exhausted...

Yet, at the same time, there was something... satisfying in protecting the children.

Every time he took out a nightmare, it was one less phantasm to plague the world. It was one more handful of golden sand that he could use to spread _good_ dreams. And the more phantasms he took out, the fewer there seemed to be. Obviously, they bred slower than his, ah, actions in thinning their numbers.

Still... He would have felt better if he knew where the remaining night-mares were. Just because he'd taken them down from a massive army and turned them into a medium-sized army, didn't mean they weren't still an army.

Joey shifted on Jack's shoulder, refocusing his attention from the aborted hunt to his companion.

"Well, kid," he said, and scratched the miniature Easter Bunny under the chin. "Looks like we've got the night off, unless I get lucky hunting."

Joey stared up at him, whiskers twitching. Jack bent his neck, the better to feel those whiskers brushing against his cheek, and stifled a giggle. There was something absurd about a man grown giggling - surely he should chortle, at least? Something lower in pitch, so he didn't sound like he was on helium...

"Well, well, so you're the one."

Jack shot to his feet, and stuffed Joey down the front of his shirt an instant before turning. This shirt didn't have a handy-dandy front pocket big enough for a baby Easter Bunny. Pity. And the way Joey wiggled around against Jack's stomach, it was very obvious he was trying to poorly hide a some _one_ , instead of a some _thing_.

"The one what?" he asked, and eyed the stranger carefully. Spirit, had to be, if he could see Jack. Taller than Jack, or indeed most people he'd seen so far, outside of a few frost giants and wendigo. Had the same air of hunger and nerves that the phantasms did, but worlds away above and beyond the middling night-mares. And... Jack wanted to snort. Very cliché in appearance, really, all black hair and robes, with pale gray skin.

Oh, and jagged teeth, like someone who'd never let a baby tooth fall out until it was rotting, so the adult teeth grew in all crooked and twisted.

The only color came from the spirit's eyes, which were a shade of yellow he couldn't help but think of as 'leprous', however right or wrong that description was.

The spirit set Silver's fur on end, and... not in a territorial rage kind of way.

It was unnerving.

Jack settled his weight, balanced on his feet from toes to heels, and watched.

The fear spirit - obviously a fear spirit, with that color scheme and aura - stared back, looking faintly amused. Haughty, as well, with a healthy dose of contempt.

It should have set Jack's teeth on edge, and had Silver staring out of his eyes ready to rip and tear.

Instead, he just wanted to cringe back, maybe run away. _Very_ unnerving.

"The one who has been killing my nightmares, of course," the spirit said, finally breaking the silence between them. "Really, you're not what I expected." Those yellow eyes swept over him, head to toe. "Shorter, for one thing."

Jack clenched his teeth. So what if he was short? Besides, that wasn't important. "They're yours? The nightmares?"

The spirit smiled, baring those jagged teeth. It wasn't a friendly expression. "They are. Oh, I forget my manners. Pitch Black, the Nightmare King."

Ah, yeah. That'd explain why Jack wanted to run away. He'd heard stories.

He straightened up - when'd he hunch over, anyways? - and did his best to look nonchalant. "Oh yeah, the guy defeated by nightlights and teddy bears. Looking good in your old age. I bet no one could tell you got your butt kicked by a couple of kids."

Pitch Black glared, but stayed where he was. "Oh, I think I'm making a comeback..."

Jack supposed he hadn't been meant to hear that. It'd been said quietly, into the breath of moving air. Still, werewolves had _very_ good hearing.

"The nightmares gain strength from the children, their fears," he reasoned. "And then they give the strength to you...?"

"A gold star for you." Pitch moved forward, seeming to glide instead of walk. Jack frowned; the gliding had as much to do with how the spirit walked as it did with the long robes, which hid little things like, well, movement.

Not that Jack wanted to see under those robes. Well, maybe if Pitch were on fire or something... Napalm could be fun.

And Silver wasn't agreeing with that observation. Not a good thing.

"Why?" Jack asked. If he stalled long enough, his wolf would pipe up. Or Pitch would let something slip, along those 'comeback' lines. "Why feed off children? Why use nightmares? Unless you're not strong enough."

"Oh, children are delightful little things. Don't you think?" Pitch paused, and looked out over Toronto's glittering lights. Street lights, office lights, car lights. It was pretty enough, though Jack preferred the stars over the Poles. "They'll believe in anything. Or... almost. Don't you think, Jack?"

"How do you -" No, no, no, that's not what he should do. Too late now. "How do you know my name?"

Pitch shook his head. "Oh, I hear things. All sorts of things. Jack Frost. You're quite the loner. Not one friend, hm? Of course, I imagine the other spirits are... wary... of dealing with you. Not when you don't have any believers. Parents tell their children about, oh, so _many_ things... but you're just an _expression_. Aren't you?"

He flinched. And of course, the fear spirit had to pounce on it.

"Is that why you're doing this?" Pitch shook his head, tsking sadly. "Silly boy. Fighting my nightmares will do nothing but waste your time. It's not as though the children are going to believe in _you_."

Jack's breath caught in his throat. That wasn't why he was doing this. It _wasn't_. He'd never even _thought_ about...

Except... no. He hadn't. This wasn't about _belief_ , it wasn't about being _seen_ , it was about _children_ in _danger_.

And yet...

"I don't care," he said, the lie heavy on his tongue. "I'm protecting them. It's the right thing to do."

Pitch sighed, and looked back out over the city. "The right thing, hm? Oh, indeed. Of course. Jack Frost, protector of children, is that what you think this is? We all know better, Jack. Between you, me, and the rest of the world... you live a precarious existence. How old are you now? A century? I doubt you'll last much longer, without a source of power."

That... wait.

"I'm three centuries," he said, feeling Silver begin to stir. Power source? What power source? "What are you even talking about?"

If he hadn't been watching for it, he'd never have seen it; for one moment, Pitch _froze_. The shock was there and gone, between one heartbeat and the next.

But it'd been there. He'd seen it.

But now all he could see was the calculation and a kind of warmth, the false kind. Jack had heard people talk about hypothermia, and how they'd felt warm even when freezing to death, and this was that kind of warmth. Underneath was something cold and lethal.

"Three centuries? Amazing. And you survived them all on your own?" Pitch moved closer, one hand reaching for Jack's shoulder. He twisted away, but not quite fast enough. The tips of those gray fingers brushed down his arm, almost all the way to the elbow.

He winced, and backed away. Pitch followed, his eyes glowing like foxfire. Jack backed up to the edge of the roof, and then there was no more roof, and he could have flown away but he didn't run, he was a werewolf, he wasn't afraid of anything -

Pitch slung one arm around Jack's shoulders, arm weighing him down like... like something very heavy, Jack's thought process might have stopped working.

Pitch smelt like a graveyard. The kind with dying flowers and open graves. It was... cliché, that was it. It was cliché.

For some reason he couldn't find the words to mock it, mock Pitch.

There should have been words, but there weren't.

"Let me tell you something, Jack, and this is very important. These children..." Pitch paused, and made a sweeping gesture out at the Toronto lights. "These children are empty vessels. They are waiting to be filled. With hope, dreams, wonder... or fear."

The Nightmare King grinned, his teeth yellow and sharp and Jack couldn't look away. Not from the teeth, not from those eyes, yellow and bright and triumphant.

"They're not," Jack said, but he lost what he was going to say next. There was a fog in his mind, and Silver wasn't talking, and Joey was a warm ball of fur against his stomach. Everything else was cold, the kind of cold he hadn't felt in three hundred years. He could dance barefoot across glaciers but now he was freezing, going numb, except for that ball of fur keeping his stomach warm.

"They are. Terrible things, children. They'll believe everything you tell them." Pitch hummed, and stepped away from Jack. His hand stroked over the werewolf's back, down along his spine, before pulling away.

Jack wanted to claw at his skin, where Pitch had touched. But he couldn't move.

Instead, he watched while Pitch stared out over the city, a pensive expression on his face. Just an expression, Jack could tell that, it wasn't real emotion. A show. Coloured and sparkly glass, not a real gem.

"Have you heard the stories parents tell their children, lately? Such tame, insipid little things. The man who comes down the chimney rewards the good and punishes the bad, and oh, everyone gets presents. So everyone must be a good little boy or girl. The teeth are traded away for money, and never mind the things you can do with such things." Pitch turned, and stared at Jack. "People knew better, once.

"Don't take candy from strangers, but the rabbit, oh that's just fine. Be good, be quiet, trust everything... Such a dangerous state for such vulnerable little things, don't you think?"

Jack shivered, half-formed memories dancing in the back of his mind. He'd seen things, and he - he...

"You want to protect the children," Pitch said, his voice going quiet. Jack leaned forward to try and hear him better, even though he could hear him just fine.

"That's what I want to do, too." The Nightmare King was close, now, and he reached up and clasped Jack's shoulders. "I want to teach the children to be afraid. So they survive. So - argh, damn it!"

Jack snapped out of his shock, and clamped one hand down over Joey's back, and kicked his staff up into his other hand. When'd he drop - never mind. The wind shrilled over the tower, snatching him up into the air with a fraction of his usual grace.

"That's not what you're doing, you ass! You're just a bully. If you were really concerned about the kids, you'd be one of the Guardians!" Fifteen feet over Pitch's head, he could finally _think_ again. And talk. But mostly think.

"And what did they ever do for these children?" Pitch demanded. Apparently, he couldn't fly. Good. "Besides sugar-filled lies!"

"Protect them from bullies!" Jack wrapped one foot around his staff, and dangled underneath it. "Like you! You short them of sleep, make them afraid of shadows. All you want is power, Pitch!"

Joey squirmed, and Jack almost fumbled the little guy. It was weird, it was like the baby Easter Bunny wanted to claw his way down Jack's arms and at Pitch's face, with malice aforethought, during-thought, and glee after-thought.

... He did not like the way Pitch was looking at Joey.

And now Pitch was looking at him, which was both better and worse.

"You -" The Nightmare King began.

Jack shoved Joey back down his shirt, and nailed Pitch in the face with a snowball. That might have had a core of ice, maybe, judging by that cracking sound. Whoops. "No, you! I'm not in this for the belief, or to be seen, or respected, or anything! I'm doing this because the kids need protecting, and you're a monster preying on them! I'm going to stop you, Pitch."

He felt Silver stir, and stare down at Pitch. The wolf snarled, and gave him a nudge.

Retreat, then. For the moment.

"You won't keep hope alive!" Pitch yelled after him. "How can you, when you have none yourself?"

Jack clenched his teeth, and flew faster. His hopes didn't matter. But...

He thought he had an idea. Time to talk to Larisa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup, Pitch tried to recruit Jack - and failed utterly. Also, I've been slowly drawing ahead in buffer chapters (finally!) and just finished chapter fourteen. Delightful chapter fourteen that makes the violence warning... appropriate.


	12. Chapter 12

"Would you like one?" Larisa offered a cut-crystal glass of something alcoholic. Jack wrinkled his nose at the strong scent, even five feet away and with a healthy dinner in front of him.

"No thanks."

Larisa shrugged, and moved away from what had to be the liquor cabinet. "As you like, though this talk might go easier with vodka. Or perhaps you prefer another drink?"

"With my sense of taste?" Joey was eating. Jack eyed his pot-roast, an entire slab of beef set aside just for him, cooked slowly in what smelt like apple juice and unfamiliar spices, and wished he could be as sensible as the baby rabbit. Oh, it smelt so good...

Manners. Manners now, stuff face later.

Silver curled his lip at human ideas of 'polite', and insisted they eat one of the cheese buns, still warm and steaming from the oven, if they couldn't go for the pot-roast.

The cheese bun did taste good. Jack had two more.

Larisa finished her vodka - wasn't vodka made out of potatoes? Why did it smell like cheap cherry flavour, then? - and sat down. "Do not wait to eat on my account," she said, eyeing the pot-roast. "You must be hungry."

_"Oh,_ now _she tells us..."_

Jack started cutting slices of roast off the main mass, and then began eating. He was too hungry for forks and knives, so he simply ate with his fingers, rolling each slice before eating. After a few slices, he calmed down enough to make almost a wrap out of each slice of meat, layering some of the noodle dish on top of the meat before rolling it up. It tasted good that way, too.

He focused on eating, getting as much food to his stomach as quickly as he could. He was hungry. It was the constant exertion each night, he knew. Too much work, not enough food... though the food he did get was plentiful and delicious, he still needed about four times as much. He was losing weight.

If he lost too much weight, if he got too hungry... Joey spent every minute he possibly could near Jack. If -

_"No,"_ Silver assured him. _"I cannot promise I will not go hunting, but I will not harm our little one."_

_Ours, huh?_ Jack asked, feeling suddenly amused.

He felt the wolf go stiff, and when he spoke, he sounded like some of the British adults from their village. _"He is ours, is he not, for this time? I will not let us harm him."_

_Alright, Silver, it's okay..._ Well, maybe Bunny would let them continue to hang around Joey. Make a case for not traumatizing the little guy by just vanishing on him...

Pack was important, and the little guy was definitely headed that way.

Larisa cleared her throat. Jack looked up from mopping the platter with the last bite of cheese bread, and nodded.

"Did Pitch Black say anything else? Before you were out of hearing?"

"No. Just... that I couldn't keep hope alive. What does that even mean?" Joey chose that exact moment to jump into Jack's lap, landing _almost_ on top of something sensitive and _exactly_ on top of his stomach. Jack wheezed and caught the rabbit before his flinch sent the little guy flying. "Ow. Watch the claws?"

Joey frowned up at him, before draping over Jack's forearm like an extremely happy baby Easter Bunny. Which he was. It was very cute.

"Hope of what?" Larisa shook her head. "The night-mares turn into dreamsand when you destroy them. Sanderson guards children's dreams. But I doubt that has anything to do with what Pitch implied."

Jack considered the possibilities, while stroking Joey's ears. "What happens to the Guardians if children... stop believing in them?"

Larisa pressed her lips together, until they formed a thin, white line slashed across her face. "It is a death sentence."

And they'd wanted him to join? Jack swallowed down the growl. Now wasn't the time. "The children don't believe," he said carefully, watching Larisa for any sign of tears. Or maybe another gun. Not that guns could hurt him... well, probably not, but he didn't want to find out. Neither happened, so he continued. "But maybe not dead? The dreamsand hasn't gone away, after all."

He thought about the pale wisps of things he'd seen in a few deserts, and winced. "Maybe they're just reduced. There's got to be really little kids, still, who believe."

"Perhaps..." Larisa relaxed, just a little. Enough that her lips looked like lips again, at least. "Doing their jobs should restore belief, should it not?"

Joey rubbed his cheek against Jack's bicep. "Awwww..." He looked up and cleared his throat. "Right. Where were we?"

The Russian woman smirked at him. "Doing the jobs so the children believe in the Guardians again. You have already been setting out to do Sanderson's, when you fight the nightmares. Do you think you could do the Tooth Fairy's, as well?"

Jack snorted, and then he was laughing. Joey squirmed away, just in time, because Jack fell over onto the floor not a moment later. And he was still laughing, even though it was kind of hard twisted around like he was.

His humour subsided after a few minutes, and he craned his neck until he could look up at Larisa. "You're kinda nuts, you know that?"

"I fail to see the humour in the situation." She frowned down at him. "The Tooth Fairy and the Sandman provide nightly reassurance that the Guardians exist. Collecting the teeth would begin to restore belief now, rather than in several months when Christmas occurs. Taking over the Tooth Fairy's job is only logical."

"Logical, sure, but not possible." Jack wiggled around until his spine was bent at a more comfortable angle. "One, the Tooth Fairy had to create lots of little helpers in order to keep up with supply and demand. Way too much for one person alone. Two, I have no idea which kids have lost teeth - or if they're still putting them under pillows in the hope that she'll leave a quarter. Or whatever. So I'd have to check every single pillow. Three, the helper fairies are AWOL, probably because of no belief. Four, I'm having a hard enough time keeping up with the nightmares, doing one city at a time. How, exactly, would I be able to keep going twenty-four-seven? Which is what I'd have to do. Because the Earth rotates. Always night somewhere."

Joey jumped down off the chair, and landed on Jack's stomach. He jackknifed upright, grabbing hold of the little brat as gently as he could.

_"... We will not eat him. We're too full,"_ Silver grumbled.

_We're not gonna eat anyone!_

The wolf contemplated gnawing on Pitch Black's leg bones, after the Nightmare King had been de-limbed. Jack did his best to ignore him.

"Get tired up there on your lonesome?" he asked Joey, who stared back at him.

"Jack." Larisa folded her arms. "Can you not simply command lesser winter sprites to aid you?"

Lesser...? She had to be kidding, right? She didn't sound like she was kidding...

"It's _summer_ ," Jack pointed out. "Sure, Northern hemisphere only, but there's more land, ergo more people, in the northern hemisphere. I think." Well, there was more ocean to the south, so... "Most sprites are off in la-la-don't-exist land until it cools back down. I'm..." Not going there, he decided.

Fact was, if he hadn't been a werewolf, he probably would've been one of those sprites that 'died' when it got too warm. Sure, human, so smart enough to head up north or down south if things got too bad, but power-wise he was pretty much down near the bottom of the heap. Being a werewolf had squeaked him over that invisible line, and also ensured that when his magic faded with the summer heat, he at least had physical strength and healing to fall back on.

"Besides," he added. "Winter sprites? Small children? Bad idea. Most of 'em are predatory little monsters."

Larisa raised her eyebrows. "Could you not order -"

"I don't _order_ anyone. Safer to ask, anyways." He looked down and played with Joey's ears. "Asking means they can do me a favour, and I'll owe them in the future."

The sprites, usually winter-themed animals of some sort, could generally be paid in magical energy. Jack had long ago perfected the art of swirling up gumball sized orbs of his magic for a sprite to eat. More powerful spirits usually asked him to aid them in the weather; that was where most of his power was tied, after all. He could do with ease what would take them months to set up. It only made sense for them.

Of course, with how little he traveled, there weren't too many spirits he'd dealt with. The sprites often came looking for him, if they knew they had something to trade for.

"It wouldn't work," he said.

Larisa nodded. "The yeti cannot. The elves... should not. They can be overly enthusiastic." Yeah, no kidding.

"How'd the Tooth Fairy even get the miniatures?" Jack asked, after a minute contemplating the ceiling.

"I wouldn't know, before my time." Larisa paused, and looked over at one of the yeti. It mumbled something to her, and she nodded in reply. "Howard says he can locate the spell books for us, however. Perhaps there will be something of use."

Jack glanced down at Joey. "What kind of name is 'Howard' for a yeti?"

"What kind of name is 'Joey' for an Easter Bunny?" Larisa asked.

Joey scowled at them both.

* * *

Aster was currently watching two of the most _clueless_ amateurs he'd ever seen. The two amateurs in question were one Larisa St. North, a mortal woman with no magic of her own yet (possibly ever), and Jack Frost, a werewolf-winter spirit that _couldn't read_. So he was having the magic-less Russian woman read for him.

Aster had been set down on one of the tables ringing the room. North's organizational skills left a great deal to be desired, but at least all of the... _stuff_... in this room had something to do with magic and spell casting. Or was broken and had something to do with magic and spell casting; Aster was halfway behind a stack of broken incense burners. It'd be shelter when something inevitably blew up.

"This one," Larisa said, and then read the old Latin with some skill, but mostly a strong Russian accent. In Latin. Aster wasn't entirely certain what she was saying - probably not about smelts, those were fish - but she seemed confident enough.

"You're sure?" Jack peered around the woman's arm down at the book, and tilted his head back and forth. "Well, I guess? Why aren't there any pictures?"

"A waste of space, I should think. Now, I will read you the directions, and you will provide the magic."

Jack sighed, and nodded. "This is going to end so badly." At least he wasn't going to be surprised later, Aster supposed.

The Pooka watched the two amateurs fumble their way through preparations, cringing inside. He still wasn't sure what the spell was supposed to be for, but the ingredients they were piling up on the work table... Actually, no, he had no idea. North was the magician. But even North would have a hard time figuring out what those two were trying to do.

Jack didn't even seem aware that the incense burner he'd grabbed was one, iron - which negated most magic in spell casting, if Aster remembered correctly - and two, broken.

"Do we have any cinnamon?" Larisa asked. "If not I can send for some from the kitchen."

... Aster really hoped they weren't going to accidentally recreate a Roman funerary rite.

Hades was an alright enough bloke, but he didn't think the Lord of the Dead would appreciate a summoning.

"Okay, so... light this little fire here, and add salt..." Jack swore under his breath when the first match broke without lighting. "Really?"

"Try again."

"Why can't... oh there we - wow that's hot. It's hot. It's lit and it's hot and _where'd it go_?"

Aster covered his face with both hands, and did his best not to listen any more.

"Is fire supposed to be that shade of green?"

"It's the salt."

"Right, right, so... spell?"

Aster whimpered, and backed further behind the broken incense burners. Even though he knew better, though, he couldn't help but poke his head back around and watch.

The iron incense burner had been used to hold the fire up off the wooden table. The salts they'd added to the fuel, from North's supply of Sodium Borate by the green flames, had spilled a bit over the table. There was a glass of water, which Aster had to stare at for a minute just to confirm that it was supposed to be part of the spell and not there for Jack to drink. There was a pewter cauldron, a little smaller than Jack's head, and if it was holding something Aster couldn't tell. Fire, water, earth... looked like a layperson's idea of three of the four elements...

Four of the four elements. Jack probably thought that was a bird feather. Aster knew better. How had North gotten hold of one of Tooth's old wing feathers?

It had to have been before she'd traded mass for more fairies. She'd had grand wings, then, but she'd made her decision and also not told them until a decade after. Still, when? Tooth was as careful of her feathers as Aster was of his shed fur.

And now Jack was going to use it in a spell? Aster winced at the thought, and hoped the spell just fizzled, instead of doing something harmful to his friend.

Larisa talked Jack through the first motions of the spell, and clearly neither of them had a clue. There wasn't any need for a circle to keep out 'evil influences', it was there to hedge in the caster's magic so they didn't end up exhausted halfway through. The circle set into the floor... still hadn't been completed by the brass bridge piece, next to the closed door.

Besides, that circle Jack drew on the table was neither closed nor a circle.

There was some badly pronounced Latin, twisted by Larisa's accent and then broken by Jack's mumbling. Jack knocked over the glass of water halfway through, froze the water in midair, and caught the ice but not the glass. The werewolf stared at the shattered glass, and then set the ice back on the table.

And then - Aster saw the moment the spell woke into a terrifying form of life.

A wind sprang up, tearing around the room, edged in ice and colder than the air outside. It knocked a tumble of pots to the floor. Bottles of spices were thrown into the wall. And then the wind got stronger, picking up papers and wooden slats, spinning in tighter and tighter circles with Jack as the focus.

Aster could see, half-buried under broken incense burners, that when the wind wrapped around Jack, when it was curling under his clothes and through his hair, Jack would die. The wind would kill him.

Then Jack surprised him.

The werewolf reached out and... caught... the wind. Aster _saw_ it and he didn't believe it; he saw it, but his brain refused to accept the sheer impossibility of the act.

The wind curled around Jack's arm like an angry snake, but he had it by the neck and wasn't letting go. Jack was speaking, but Aster couldn't hear him. The more Jack spoke, the more... real... the wind seemed to get, until it wasn't coiled about Jack's arm _like_ a snake, it _was_ a snake. The wind-snake watched Jack, who then let it go.

Instead of attacking, or whirling about the room again, the snake looked the table over and then bent down and inhaled Tooth's feather. The feather vanished, even though the wind-snake was starting to fade like smoke in twilight.

Then, as quickly as it'd formed, the snake became the wind, which spun around the room one final time and vanished.

Jack collapsed to the ground, shaking. At that, he was better off than the mortal woman, who'd collapsed somewhere in there and wasn't likely to wake up any time soon.

Aster crept out from his hiding place, and checked for any lingering effects. Other than a faint scent of fake pine, just as easily attributed to the collection of vehicle air fresheners the wind had uncovered, nothing.

Well then. He got down from the table and moved over to Jack. The winter spirit wasn't shaking anymore, though he was dripping with sweat. Shouldn't it have frozen or...? If enough of his magic had gone into corralling the spell, maybe he couldn't freeze anything at the moment.

"Hey, Joey." Jack looked up at him. Aster paused, and then continued to move closer. The werewolf's eyes were red-tinged. Interesting.

Once Jack had caught his breath, he helped Aster up onto his shoulder, and then shook Larisa until she woke. After that, the yeti came, to help them move to a more comfortable spot and like as not clean up after their efforts.

"So," Larisa asked. She accepted a glass of vodka from the yeti. "Did it work?"

"Pitch's lair." Jack moved over to the window. "The Tooth Fairy's helpers are in Pitch's lair."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aster is a professional watching a bunch of amateurs do VERY STUPID STUFF... and somehow survive. Wonder how, huh? Can't blame survival on Jack being a werewolf _this_ time...


	13. Chapter 13

Jack perched on a handy tree branch, and felt a sense of deja vu. It wasn't that long ago he'd been here, watching Nightmares trot down into a hole in the earth. He'd even gone to his cave and switched his clothes for a blue, hooded sweater and a pair of jeans, just to complete the feeling. Well, that, and the clothes supplied by the yeti were very nice to look at, but... not meant for fighting in.

Last time he'd been here, the Shenlob had come out chasing Joey. This time, Jack intended to go down into that hole and... look around. Maybe cause some havoc.

Silver was sulking in the back of his mind. The wolf didn't like the idea of going into the hole, in human shape. But what choice did they have? Pitch had claimed the Nightmares belonged to him, and they needed to find Pitch's lair. It was a reasonable trail to follow.

Joey was a warm lump in his sweater pocket. Jack had tried to leave the little guy behind, but Joey had clawed up the werewolf's legs and arms trying to get up on Jack's shoulder, so... What could he do but let the baby Easter Bunny come with? For all he knew, Joey was afraid that he'd get eaten by a yeti if he didn't stick with Jack.

"Alright," he murmured, barely loud enough to hear himself. "Looks like that's it."

It'd felt wrong, forgoing a night hunting Nightmares, but he needed to be awake and at full power for this. Either he'd end up in Pitch's lair, or in a den of sated Nightmares. Neither of which were a good thing for an exhausted werewolf.

A werewolf at something approaching full strength, though... He'd eaten, well, both before sleeping and after, and despite the warm weather was feeling... perky. Brimming with energy. Ready for just about anything.

That might have had something to do with the five espressos he'd downed before flying to Burgess, but meh. Confidence and power was confidence and power.

Jack dropped down out of the tree, and edged over to the hole. It looked, if he was going to compare it to anything, something like the Easter Bunny's tunnels right before he jumped in. Except the Easter Bunny, as grumpy and adorable as he'd been, had never excluded an aura of dread. Or smelt of old sheets and shower mould.

He snorted, and finished breaking the wooden bed frame rotting over the hole. Then, staff at the ready, he jumped in.

It was... dark, in the tunnel. The light from outside didn't seem to get past the mouth of the hole. Jack supposed it should have been frightening, but no. It was just annoying. Silver pushed forward, lending his night sight - and it didn't work. They both agreed, without words or much thought about it, to be cranky about that.

Didn't Pitch, or maybe the Nightmares, know that the half-seen was more frightening than complete darkness?

Jack let go of his staff with one hand, the better to protectively cup over Joey's body. Fortunately, in fact, because not seconds later he tripped and almost fell. Jack cursed, and started shuffling along after that. Rat-stepping might not have been fast and might, in fact, have been wearing at the soles of his feet in a way that promised bleeding later, but he didn't trip again.

The tunnels continued with the general air of menace and the smell of dirty laundry. Jack started muttering about electric bills and candle costs.

It took half an hour to realize he was in a maze. After that, he started icing the floor so he knew where he'd been.

It took even longer to realize Joey was trying to wiggle out of his sweater pocket. Jack stopped and helped the rabbit out and onto his shoulder. Then, when he started walking again, Joey nudged him. It took a few minutes and one instance of walking into a wall before Jack realized what Joey was up to. The baby Easter Bunny either had better eyesight than a werewolf - maybe all the carrots? - or just remembered the way through the maze from his last visit.

Whichever it was, Jack managed to speed up, and actually got out of the maze in fairly short order. The ice he'd laid down would show him the way out. Or Joey might take over again.

"You wanna go back in the pocket?" he asked. The rabbit glared at him, and then looked away. Fair enough. Maybe the pocket was stuffy.

Pitch's lair was not what he'd expected, though just what he'd expected... Jack pursed his lips, and considered the place. It looked like one of those brain teasers, with the stairs forever going up, strange angles, floors on the ceiling and walls on the floor, that sort of thing. There was light, at least, though where it was coming from was a question without an answer. Everything was gray and looked grimy.

Silver eyed the nearest set of 'stairs' and sighed. _"No class,"_ he complained.

Jack grinned, and started walking. So far there wasn't anywhere to go but back in the maze, so dead ahead it was. "Pretty sure I saw a place like this in a dentist's office. Picture book, sure, but," he told Joey. The rabbit stared at him, and then snorted.

"Yeah," Jack agreed. He kept walking, listening for Nightmares or people. The place was silent, and besides the scent of old caves and older laundry was... mothballs?

He almost laughed. The lair, whether it belonged to the Nightmares or to Pitch Black, well, someone had clearly put effort into the looks... but the scent kept it from being creepy.

Besides. He was a werewolf. There weren't too many monsters scarier than him around. Wendigo, maybe, but they didn't like caves.

The room, such as it was - it was too orderly to be a cavern - opened up with side galleries and the odd cage hanging down from the ceiling. The cages were too small to hold anything - well, maybe a small squirrel - but it looked like they got bigger the further along they went.

And more numerous.

Jack growled under his breath, and checked the first side cavern. There were about five Nightmares, and they looked asleep. Interesting. Jack left them alone, and continued on. The other side caverns had more Nightmares, piled up in the middle like a pack of puppies instead of horses or phantasms. It was oddly cute, if you tilted your head and squinted.

Jack didn't really have any interest in tilting his head or squinting. He kept walking.

Up ahead, around what might have been a corner if it didn't bulge in odd places, he saw a flash of color. He froze, Silver moving forward until they 'stood' side by side, their shared gaze flicking around as they eased over to the closest thing that passed for shelter. It happened to be the wall, near a sleeping Nightmare that was just starting to twitch in a dream. Jack wasn't worried; they already knew the Nightmares had no sense of smell. Silver made sure they stayed out of reach, all the same.

They eased forward, until they were able to peer around the corner. The cages here were big enough to hold a person, Jack noted. Silver focused on the color, blue-green feathers that filled a good dozen cages from top to bottom, with hardly enough space between the fairies for a piece of paper.

There were... a lot of fairies.

Jack looked around, checking for awake Nightmares or Pitch Black, but didn't see anything. Just to be sure, he called a small breeze and set it creeping around the room, bringing scents back to him. There was a hint... but it was so faint, and gone so fast, he disregarded it. The peppermint smell was too old to be valid. More importantly, he didn't smell anything fresh. He couldn't hear anything, either.

He moved out from behind the corner, rat-stepping his way over to the closest of the cages. The fairies stared at him, their eyes dull with long-term fear and exhaustion. He felt his upper lip curl, entirely involuntarily. Cages meant a person was behind this, he decided, as he examined the lock. The Nightmares were smart enough, but they weren't exactly long-term planners. Their fighting had proven that much.

If a person was behind this, Jack was more than ready to put his money on Pitch Black. Hell, the man was the _Nightmare_ King. Nightmares. Nightmare King. Jack would've hit himself for missing it, but... busy figuring out how best to tear the cage apart.

Joey stretched his neck out, whiskers twitching as he sniffed at the cage, or the fairies. One of the fairies blinked at Joey, then blinked again, her feathers fluffing up and a little life entering her expression. Joey twitched his whiskers at her, and she 'cheeped' softly in reply. It was cute, and also got her - sisters? Clones? - attention. The ones in the cage all looked down at Joey, then Jack, looking confused and almost hopeful.

Jack grinned at them, and went back to studying the lock. After a minute he decided it'd be impossible to pick with ice slivers, which were all he had on hand. It wasn't like he made a habit of keeping lock picks around. Silver agreed wordlessly, and then pointed out the rust on the bars, where the lock had been welded in place.

"That'll work," Jack muttered, and took hold of the lock, and one of the bars. He set his feet, and then _pulled_. The metal resisted for a moment, the muscles in Jack's back stretched and aching, and then with a long, dull scraping sound, the lock tore off. The door swung open, and he had a bunch of fairies staring at him with shock, and some fear, in their eyes.

"Come on, out you get, we're blowing this popsicle stand," Jack muttered, and flapped his hands at them. It wasn't until Joey jumped down onto the ground and wiggled his nose at them, though, that they moved.

"Fair enough." Jack watched long enough to make sure no one got hurt by the jump out of the cave, but they seemed well enough. Once on the ground, they clustered together, but also stretched their wings. In a bit, they'd be able to fly, he hoped. There wasn't any way he could carry all of them, or even most.

He moved to the next cage, and repeated the process. The fairies didn't wait for direction, this time; they just jumped down and hurried over to their fellows. Jack decided they were sisters, if only because the idea of clones was a little weird.

Seriously, the cloned sheep was just Scotland - was it Scottish scientists that'd done it? - having a laugh at the rest of the world. He'd been a _shepherd_ and even he had trouble telling one sheep from another. A layperson would find it impossible.

Silver huffed at him, and they moved to the next cage.

The last cage was the easiest, having the most rust, and the fewest fairies. Jack prowled around the group as they got ready to fly. It was easiest to move crouched over, balanced on the balls of his feet, staff in his hands and at the ready. It would've been _better_ if he'd been wolf-shaped, but you couldn't have everything.

He kept a breeze circulating through the room, for the scents. It took long minutes for the last group of fairies to signal they were ready, but the entire time, he smelt nothing, heard nothing, and saw nothing.

"Alright," he murmured. "As quietly as you can. Towards that maze thing."

He glanced down at Joey, who looked up at him, then hopped ahead. Fair enough, he decided. Joey was probably older than Jack had first thought. How old, though? He looked like a baby, considering his size and shape next to Bunny's, and Joey wasn't talking...

Maybe he was mute. Like Sandy or something.

The fairies all began to lift up into the air, the sound of their wings exactly like a swarm of bees. He supposed it was as quiet as they were going to get, but he really wished it could be quieter. They had to creep past the sleeping Nightmares, and this was hardly creeping.

And yet. Jack checked each alcove as they passed, and the Nightmares were still sleeping. Despite the loud droning sound of hundreds of thousands of beating wings, despite how it had to be an unusual sound...

It was too easy.

Silver made them pause, and they looked around. All of a sudden, he knew they were being watched. He couldn't see the watcher, but he could feel it, like a weighted cloth draped over his shoulders.

He growled, and hurried after the fairies.

And then the fairies stopped. Of course.

Jack skipped around them, and stopped next to Joey. The little rabbit was scowling at Pitch, who stood between them and the entrance to the maze. There wasn't any other way out, Jack knew; they had to go through Pitch in order to escape. And the fairies, however hopeful they were of getting out, were afraid.

Jack leaned against Silver. Last time they'd frozen. This time...

It happened again, that odd shivering feeling. He lifted his head and did his best to ignore it. Like the Shenlob, Pitch seemed to radiate fear like body heat, but it didn't make the werewolf afraid. It made him angry, again.

He twirled his staff in one hand, and grinned. "Follow the ice," he reminded Joey.

Then he lunged for Pitch.

He seemed to surprise the Nightmare King; the idiot gawked at him right up until he picked Pitch up by one arm and a handful of robe, and threw him across the room.

It was loud, and Pitch didn't actually hit anything - he vanished into the shadows - but it cleared the way for Joey and the fairies. He kept close to the maze entrance until the last fairy was gone.

He suspected Pitch could just go after the fairies, maybe mess with the maze, but... could Pitch do that while fighting a werewolf? Not just fighting a werewolf, but fighting one intent on dismembering the Nightmare King and scattering the pieces.

"Here, Booger-man... Come to old Jackie..." He grinned, and began prowling back deeper into the lair, aware of the Nightmares waking up and staring at him with flat, yellow eyes.

There were a lot of Nightmares. They were not as intimidating as they thought they were.

He chuckled, which built into laughter, which then built into a crescendo of cackling. "What's wrong?" he called. He'd reached the first hanging cages, the small ones. He reached over and grabbed one by the chain. He pulled, and tore it down. "Afraid of little old me?"

A Nightmare roared and charged him. He swung the cage on the chain and smashed the Nightmare's head in.

The floodgates were opened, and all the Nightmares charged at him. He laughed; of course he laughed. They were so _slow_. So _fragile_. And it was so easy to _destroy_ them.

The cage broke quickly, hitting the floor and the walls but that was fine, that was great, because now he had the chain, just that, and it worked _beautifully_. The chain and his staff was even better, because he froze the Nightmares with his staff before smashing them with the chain.

The ground was covered in gritty, black sand and frozen chunks.

There weren't many Nightmares left. He didn't have any of the dreamsand on him to destroy them permanently, they'd be back... but it'd take a while.

Still no -

He was picked up by the back of his sweater and thrown into the wall.

Jack twisted in midair, and hit the wall feet first. Pitch looked startled, and then enraged, and then shocked when Jack came flying back and punched him in the face.

The werewolf landed, and tossed the chain aside. It'd been useful, but he really, really wanted to punch Pitch, feel bones break under his fists. The chain would just get in the way of that.

"Took you long enough to join in," he said, and tilted his head to the side. "You're something of a coward, aren't you?"

Pitch gestured at the black sand, a fair amount lifting up and forming an oversized scythe. "You do talk a great deal, don't you, Jack? Let me fix that for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter, violence!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure there's going to be readers going "that's not so violent" but this is the most violent thing I've written in ages, so... Violence Warning in effect.

Pitch swung at him, and he dodged with room to spare. Not a great deal - he made a quick mental note that the scythe, though oversized, had to be lighter than it appeared - but still. The expression Pitch made when he missed was beautiful.

Not quite as beautiful as the expression Pitch made when he kicked the Nightmare King in the stomach.

Jack had put his weight behind the blow, and that combined with a werewolf's strength was nothing to sneer at. Pitch took a quick trip through the air. Take off was mediocre, flight was actually rather good, landing was crap.

"I'll gave that one a six and a half," Jack said. He leaned on his staff, and smiled at the Boogieman. "You need to work on it."

Pitch shoved back up onto his feet. "Is everything a game to you?"

Jack raised his eyebrows. "Yeah," he said. "The important stuff is."

"Well, I'm afraid..." Pitch grinned, his eyes beginning to glow. Jack couldn't say he was impressed; red was more frightening than yellow. "This is one game you won't win."

Jack shifted his weight off his staff. "Promises, promises... promises you won't be able to keep, no less. C'mon, Pitch, going to talk at me all night?"

Apparently not. Jack was soon hard pressed to avoid the sharp edge of the scythe. In his defence, he was a little busy icing everything he could, trying to hit Pitch.

Silver pressed forward, disrupting their balance, but... not, at the same time. His eyes had to be wolf-red by now, but Pitch didn't seem to notice. He did notice, though, when Jack's attacks got more vicious, not just defending himself, but looking to maim.

Silver did take a second to preen over the ice-talons now tipping every finger... and toe. The toe-talons were bloody, too.

But so was Pitch's scythe. Blood ran down the inside of Jack's arm, an annoying trickle. It would close up fast enough, even during the fight, but it was annoying and it _tickled_. He growled, and circled Pitch, even as Pitch circled him.

"You're not a bad fighter," Pitch said, his eyes lingering on Jack's arm and the bloody cut. "Where did you learn?"

Jack shrugged, and smirked. "Here and there. Started young."

The Nightmare King slipped into a shadow, and attacked Jack from behind. Unfortunately for him, the werewolf had been expecting just that. A quick exchange of blows followed, neither of them getting the upper hand. They disengaged, and went back to their circling.

"Young? How so?" Pitch licked his lip, and looked mildly annoyed. Split lips did sting when you poked them with a tongue, Jack knew.

"Oh. I castrated a man. With my teeth." Jack paused in fond remembrance. He could still remember, thanks to Silver, the fury and fear at the threat. His father had been everything then, and the idea that the strange werewolf was going to take him away... "I was five," he added.

Pitch actually stopped and stared at him, lips parting in what looked like shock.

Jack punched him in the mouth.

He didn't pull the blow. He _felt_ bone cave in, and Silver howled in glee as they followed up with a gut shot. Then the staff, whirling around and coming down on a staggering Boogieman, cracking across his shoulders and sending him to the floor.

If Pitch had been human, he'd have been down and out - and in need of a hospital. Or a morgue. Unfortunately, he was a spirit, and spirits were hard to kill.

Instead of staying down, Pitch lunged up, mouth open like he was going to bite Jack's face off. Jack recoiled, instinct pulling him away from bloody saliva and broken teeth.

Right into the path of a blade.

He hissed, and tore Pitch's hand off the handle, did his best to fling the Nightmare King away while trying to curl over the injury. The knife crumbled when he grabbed for it, black sand spilling through his fingers before he could freeze it solid.

Damn it. Sucking chest wound, with the bonus of the blade still in there.

Which would normally be a _good_ thing. Pull a knife out, bleed to death. Except Jack could have slapped a patch of ice over the wound - keep his lung working and keep from bleeding out - and werewolf healing would've taken care of everything else.

Now he was going to have to wait for the sand to fester out.

He _hated_ festering stuff out.

"Not... nice..." He gasped. Ice, ice... yay ice. Added bonus, it helped numb the pain in his chest down to something more... tolerable.

Jack straightened up, and grinned. Or rather, Silver grinned, all predatory intent. If Pitch thought a little thing like a punctured lung was going to slow him down, time to surprise the guy.

Sure, it hurt. Sure, he was having trouble breathing, but he'd spent three centuries drowning after every full moon just so he could get the blood off. He was fighting now, he'd collapse later.

Pitch was grinning back at him. The broken teeth only made his smile worse. Maybe Jack could break a few more...

Silver began to chuckle, and they twirled their staff around one hand. "If a hole in my side is the worst you can do," he said, "then I think you're in trouble, O Tree Sappy One."

"Tree -?"

Jack lunged forwards, one hand going for Pitch's face, fingers spread wide and talons glittering. He swiped at Pitch's feet with his staff. The Nightmare King dodged both attacks, but not the third. Jack grabbed him by the wrist, and dug in with all his strength. Bone ground against bone under his fingers, and he could almost feel it powdering.

Pitch shrieked, and slashed at Jack's face with his other hand. Jack twisted away, but dirty nails scraped over his temple and cheek all the same, drawing blood. At least it wasn't his eyes.

He ducked under Pitch's arm, stepping behind him. Staff braced, butt against Jack's foot, crook against his neck. Then, bring Pitch's arm around and back, until his elbow was against the staff...

And then pull, twist, and push, until the Nightmare King's elbow broke with a _delightful_ snapping sound.

Pitch screamed again, as much pain as rage, and pulled away. Jack held on, but then Pitch's shoulder pulled out of the socket. Pitch was able to turn more than Jack had expected, and there was another knife coming at his face.

Jack twisted aside, letting go of Pitch's wrist. He raised his own arm to protect his face - so of course Pitch changed what he was aiming for and sunk the blade into Jack's exposed armpit.

More black sand.

Jack fell back, and snarled at the pain. He slapped more ice over the wound, the hilt once more gone before he could pull the blade out.

Silver howled, and Jack howled with him. The temperature began to drop.

Jack looked at Pitch, and Silver fell silent.

_"Let me out,"_ the wolf whispered. He was red inside, red and black, rage and hunger twisting together. _"Let me out. I will crack his bones with our teeth and suck out the marrow. Let me out and I will flay him alive. Let me out. Let me out!"_

Jack took a deep breath, the pain in his chest and shoulder white-gold lighting. _Yes,_ he said, and handed over control.

Silver snatched it from him, and began to laugh, and laugh, and laugh as diamond dust began to rain down from the ceiling.

* * *

Aster waited next to the tunnel entrance, in the open and not worried about it. Or not much. He'd sent the fairies on to the North Pole; fast as the little ones flew, the cold wouldn't bother them any. And they were too fretful to keep out here. One or two might have been confident enough to wait with him, but they were needed to help keep their sisters calm.

Much as he was worried about the sheilas, he was more worried about Jack. The werewolf must've distracted Pitch, there hadn't been any Nightmares to re-capture the fairies as they'd escaped. And Pitch hadn't shuffled the maze around like he'd done when Aster was escaping the first time. Without the mind games and corrupted dreamsand, they'd only had to deal with the darkness and the low-level general feeling of dread. It'd been, in comparison to his first escape, easy.

But now he'd been waiting for Jack for what felt like several days, instead of only... half the night. He'd checked the moon on leaving; might've been a new moon, but his eyes were plenty good and he'd made out the dark circle well enough. It'd been overhead then, and now, several hours on, was out of sight behind the trees.

Several hours was probably bad.

Aster clenched his teeth hard enough he was half surprised they didn't shatter. He... knew how North and Tooth were caught, and...

Well. Hard to admit, but there wasn't any way - _right now_ \- to rescue them. Aster was immune to most of Pitch's powers, but the other two weren't. They were trapped in a form of waking nightmare, unable to move, unaware of what was going on around them. Sure, Jack was probably strong enough to carry them both out... but not when they were fighting him with all the strength they had, convinced he was one of the monsters.

Not that they'd have much strength, with belief at such a low ebb. Maybe at full power they'd be able to tear their way out of Pitch's trap, but now? No. He doubted North could even _walk_ , nightmare or no nightmare, and Tooth would hardly be much better. Aster... well, if he hadn't been Pooka, if he hadn't been Spring as well as Hope, if Pitch had managed to keep hold of him long enough to start the Fearling infection...

Luck, and being smart enough to grab onto that luck, had gotten him out. That, and a cold-blooded practical streak that had pointed out that there wasn't any way for him to rescue the other two _now_ , but if he was out and free then he'd have options _later_.

Jack's plan to restore belief... it was the best idea he'd heard in a while.

But that would only work if Jack himself got free of Pitch. What if Pitch had caught Jack the way he'd done North and Tooth? Jack didn't have any believers. Strong as he was, it was limited. Sure, the boy could throw a punch and toss around a bit of ice, but that wasn't close to what he'd need for fighting the Nightmare King! _Especially_ one that'd been glutting himself on children's fear for the past few months.

Aster looked up at the night sky, and winced. Moon might've been out of sight, but the stars were still visible... and in another hour, it'd be dawn.

_Hours_. Jack had been down there for hours now.

Aster rocked his weight back and forth, and then looked down at his front paws. Paws that were supposed to be _hands_. He'd been made tiny and useless...

Well. If Jack came out, Aster would be delighted. Sick with relief and fury at being made to worry so long, but delighted. If anyone else came out...

They'd be coming out head first. And his claws were plenty sharp.

Not long after, he heard a quiet scrape, and then a hiss. He sat up on his haunches, and stared into the tunnel, _willing_ his eyes to work better so he could see who was coming out.

His eyes didn't work any better, but he did see who it was. White hair, streaked with blood and dirt and more blood. Pale skin, smeared with red where it wasn't dripping with it. A blue sweater, torn just about everywhere and staying on only because the collar was intact and the pieces were glued to Jack's skin with blood. Jeans, also torn, only enough left for decency.

Jack shuffled forwards, leaning on his staff like it was a cane, looking like he'd gone ten rounds with an angry swordsman and managed to survive anyways. Aster had never seen anything that looked half so beautiful as that.

And then Jack looked up. Aster paused, because that wasn't Jack looking at him. That was a deranged and happy looking werewolf, glowing red eyes, wide grin, and all.

Aster swallowed, but moved forward anyways. He'd probably die, he reflected, hopping forwards like a mortal cony. Damn bouncing hurt his back.

Jack stopped, mostly out of the tunnel, and stared down at him. The wide red eyes, the manic grin, and the blood made it hard to read his expression... but Aster wouldn't put long odds on him getting out of this unharmed.

The werewolf stared at him a moment longer, and then took the last step out of the tunnel. Almost as an afterthought, he turned and iced the tunnel mouth over.

Aster had to stare at the ice for a moment. Jack had... looking like _that_ , he'd still...

Creating a tunnel to, say, his Warren... that was easy. Not effortless, though the past millennia he'd gotten it down well enough to look easy as breathing. The tunnel had to open up in the physical world, and then transport people using it to the pocket dimension he'd stored his Warren in, under Australia. Without killing people in the process, no less. Easily enough done with magic, simple enough people would cast it on bags just so they could carry more stuff.

_Closing_ the tunnels, on the other hand... Closing his own tunnel wasn't too difficult, it was his, but opening a tunnel was always easier. There was a reason why a flower always sprouted when he closed a tunnel, and it had as much to do with the amount of magic in use as leaving something behind for kids looking for the Easter Bunny. If he'd had to close someone else's tunnel, he'd probably end up growing a forest.

Jack, though... Far as Aster knew, Jack didn't know the magic to open tunnels to pocket dimensions. Jack would probably never be able to _use_ that magic; he didn't seem the type. It shouldn't have been possible for him to do anything that affected someone else's tunnel magic, let alone _Pitch's_. There were enough warding spells on the tunnel entrance to make Aster's fur stand on end if he'd poked it.

But Jack... had. Neatly, no less. And the wardings... were gone.

The amount of magical power that must have taken... Aster shivered, and looked back up at Jack. That ice wasn't going to melt any time soon, even though it was, what, June? Ice that didn't melt, utterly crushing Pitch's wards - _Pitch's_ wards and the Nightmare King was no slouch with those - _and_ sealing off someone else's tunnel?

"Hello there, Mister Cottontail," Jack murmured. He had a bit of a different accent than usual, more like the old British lower class, not London... Certainly nothing like his usual East-American blather. It made Aster want to back away and find somewhere to hide.

Instead, he held still, and kept a careful eye on the werewolf. If Jack turned violent, he could probably outrun him in the short term.

"I fear I'm a bit worse for wear, but would you care to accompany me back to the North?" Jack chuckled, and held one hand down to Aster. "Don't worry, I'll clean the blood off you once we get there."

Aster swallowed, and stretched up onto his hind legs. Jack took the gesture for the agreement it was, and picked him up with one arm. Aster shivered at the amount of blood that was transferred to his fur; fresh and still faintly warm, no less.

"Never you fear," Jack assured him. "I shall heal. The knife wounds will take longer," he added thoughtfully, "But then the sand needs to fester out."

Sand? Knife wounds? Festering out? Aster pressed his nose to Jack's throat and sniffed deeply.

He smelt blood, and sweat, and rage... but no corruption. He pulled back to look up at Jack's face, though the werewolf wasn't looking at him.

Was the werewolf, like Aster, immune to the corrupting effects of the nightmare sand?

It'd be something to think about during the flight. Maybe it'd even distract him from how far away the ground was... or how much blood Jack was losing.

Maybe. Aster had to hope it would, because flying was still no fun when he could see what was going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So now we know what happened to Tooth and North, Jack was violent, and healing happens next. Woo!


	15. Chapter 15

Aster shook himself off, and started licking at one arm. He'd gotten soaked in Jack's blood, too much for a quick lick-and-wipe to take care of. So he'd gotten a bath in the sink, or maybe it was technically a shower, since the water had been left running and the tap hadn't been put in. The resulting soaking, however, was less than comfortable. His fur was plastered down, except along his spine where it stood up in spiky clumps. Shaking had only made the wet clumps worse.

"A towel," Larisa said, and wrapped him up in it. She wasn't so good at that as Jack was, but the towel was warm and fluffy enough that he could overlook the deficiencies. The human woman was rather distracted by the werewolf in the shower, anyways.

Not that her distraction had anything to do with attraction, Aster reflected. Her scent all but _screamed_ her fear. He doubted it was helping Jack hang onto his control, but the yeti had flat out refused to help wash Aster off. Or they'd been refusing to be in a small room with Jack. Either was possible. The yeti were plenty smart, and Jack had made it obvious how much he didn't like them. Normally, the werewolf ignored them. Right now... staying out of the bathroom was smarter.

He and Larisa, obviously, weren't as intelligent as the yeti were.

Aster twitched an ear, and eyed the shower as well. Jack was certainly taking his sweet time in there, not that Aster could blame him. But... the amount of blood Jack had to have lost was worrying. Sure, spirit, and sure, werewolf, but there were limits.

Yet the barely visible silhouette showed Jack standing up, not collapsed on the tiles. So he couldn't have been too badly off, could he?

Not too long afterwards, thankfully for Aster's peace of mind, the shower shut off. Jack opened the door, and stepped out.

Washed off, the winter spirit somehow looked worse than when he'd been covered in blood. He was still bleeding from several wounds... most of his wounds, actually. Aster was hard pressed, looking at him, to find a single patch of skin that wasn't scraped, bruised, cut, or worse.

Yet Jack's blue eyes glittered with what seemed to be satisfaction, and he had the tiniest of smiles curving his lips.

"You need stitches," Larisa observed. "A great many. Come, I will handle this. The yeti are not so good at it, their fingers are too big and they will shed in your wounds."

Jack looked from her, to a gash on his forearm that continued to leak blood at a steady rate. Aster cringed at the sight, at the way the blood merged with the water droplets spotting Jack's skin, at the way the winter spirit was too tired for the water to freeze.

Jack nodded to Larisa, and then gathered up Aster, towel and all, in his arms. "Come on, Joey," he murmured. "Let's go let the nice Russian lady poke me with sharp things."

Larisa frowned at him, and grabbed a stack of towels. "Come."

Jack limped along behind her, apparently unconcerned by his nudity, or the bloody footprints he left on the polished wood floor. Normally, Aster supposed he'd be fully in support of said nudity, but not when it came with blood and flesh slashed clear to the bone.

The mortal woman draped the towels over an armchair, and gestured Jack to it. He sat down, Aster still cradled in his arms, and seemed to pay no attention to the room while Larisa ordered a nearby yeti to bring her a first aid kit, and a second yeti to chase out the elves.

"What about the elves?" Jack said, once Larisa was done giving orders. "Don't they do sewing?"

"Embroidery on fabric," Larisa agreed. "If you wish a lovely floral motif, or perhaps an ice dragon on your shoulder, they are the best with a needle and thread. If you wish to stitch a wound... no."

Jack nodded, and rubbed one corner of the towel over Aster's head. He looked... tired, Aster decided. Well, about time! He wasn't sure why Jack hadn't collapsed unconscious, but it'd been a bit disconcerting, the werewolf bouncing around like he'd been hooked up to those energizer batteries the humans liked so much.

Larisa accepted a first aid kit from the yeti, and moved over to Jack. "Do you need something to bite down on?" she asked.

Jack blinked, and shook his head. "No. I'm too... I'm too tired," he admitted. "What do you want to start on first?"

"First, let us move Joey over here..." He considered protesting the move, but it was probably for the best. Jack looked a little disgruntled, which was oddly encouraging. The end table wasn't such a bad spot, anyways. It was right next to Jack's chair, after all, so he could keep an eye on everything.

Larisa worked quickly enough, pulling a packet out of the kit. The packet turned out to have a sterile needle, and more than enough thread. It was a bit older fashioned, but it worked out for her stitching style. Of course, if Jack still had the stitches in by the next full moon - already passed for this month, and not due for another two weeks - then there'd be trouble. If Jack had been able to transform into his wolf shape, they wouldn't have worked, either; they weren't the individual stitches that were best for shapeshifters, but a running stitch.

Actually, Aster was fairly certain that he'd used a running stitch to repair his mattress cover that one time...

Shapeshifting aside, especially since Jack _couldn't_ , Larisa's stitches were neatly done, and quick. She'd started with his left thigh, the front of which only had one large gash to worry about. There were a number of bruises, mottled a dark blue and purple, but nothing else bleeding. The gash took eleven stitches to close.

Jack's left calf, however, was much worse, and his knee was swollen twice its normal size. "Wrenched," Larisa declared. "I'd say ice it, but that seems rather superfluous." Jack's calf on the front was fine enough, though his shin was bruised worse than his thigh, black all up and down the bone. The back of his calf, however, looked like it'd been used as a mountain lion's scratching post. There had been strips of flesh dangling off when Aster had first seen Jack, but now there were just bloody gouges, the edges a bit ragged where the strips had been torn free.

Larisa frowned at the gouges, and then got a roll of bandages.

Aster looked up at Jack's face, and wondered how he'd disposed of the torn-off flesh. Then he decided he really didn't want to know after all, and went back to watching Larisa's work.

Jack's right leg was both better and worse than his left. There hadn't been any gouges or strips of flesh hanging free, but his right shin... Aster had seen similar wounds, but they had all been inflicted by swords or honking big knives. It looked for all the world like Pitch had swung a sword at Jack's leg, but the blade had hit the shin bone and then skidded down, peeling skin and muscle as it went. Jack hadn't torn anything off, there; in all honesty it looked like half his calf-muscle had been cut partially free, too much to just... deal with on his own. It took several layers of stitches to get everything neatened up again. Larisa assured Jack in a murmur that the stitches were the dissolving kind, so no one would have to pull them out.

Good thing, since some of those stitches were now covered by muscle and skin.

There were several minor cuts on his right thigh, which only needed a bit of bandaging and no stitches. His hips and groin were fine, though from the way Jack winced when Larisa made that observation, Aster supposed they hadn't been. Knee to the groin, most likely. It was an obvious target.

Jack's stomach, on the other hand... Pitch had tried very hard to gut Jack, and if he'd managed to cut any deeper, he'd have succeeded. Larisa muttered something in Russian, and went to work with her needle and thread. Jack twitched once or twice, but didn't move, growl, or flinch.

And so it went. Aster kept a running tally of the number of stitches, and cringed when, Jack's front done, Larisa had him turn around so she could stitch up his back and flanks. It wasn't just how many cuts and scrapes were near Jack's spine, it was the way the werewolf's bones stuck out.

Well, the cuts and scrapes near Jack's spine weren't good, either.

In the end, it took over one hundred stitches to close up Jack's wounds - Aster had lost count when it'd hit the triple digits, just from shock - and seventeen rolls of bandages. The werewolf had a punctured lung, already healing, and several broken ribs that would make sleeping difficult until they healed. He had enough stitches in his forehead it looked like Pitch had tried to scalp him; maybe the Nightmare King had, Jack didn't say.

Once Larisa was finished, she called the yeti to bring in clothes and food. Jack, obviously, was more focused on the idea of food, but the yeti brought the clothes first. Or rather, they brought in a large, flannel nightgown, pale blue with white stripes, and helped bundle Jack up in it. Jack didn't protest, since they next brought in platters and bowls, all full of food.

Aster watched Jack eat, the werewolf devoting all his attention and energy to that single task. There wasn't any sign that Jack was savouring the meal like he normally did. Aster figured that Jack was just getting as much food inside him as quickly as possible before he passed out. The werewolf probably didn't even care _what_ he was eating, only that it was edible.

In short order, Jack ran out of both food and energy. He was left sitting slumped in his chair, blinking heavily, looking confused and exhausted and, with most of his wounds covered by the nightgown, adorably young.

"I believe it is past time for you to sleep," Larisa said. "Your bed has been prepared, including a prop so you can sleep easier with those ribs. Come, I will carry Joey for you. He is almost dry in any case."

"Alright," Jack said, slurring only a little. He pushed up onto his feet, and swayed back and forth for a moment before he caught his balance and started walking. He let Larisa lead the way, and Aster peered back over her shoulder at him. The werewolf's gaze was fixed on Larisa - no. On Aster.

Well. That was... He couldn't help but smile, and Jack actually smiled back.

Larisa set Aster down on the foot of Jack's bed, the head of which had somehow been raised like in hospitals. The angle wouldn't be too bad, though it'd be a pain going more than two, maybe three nights. The human body was better than the Pookan for sleeping at odd angles, but better just meant their back pain was a little more... temporary.

Jack's healing should take care of both the cause of sleeping at an incline, and any painful results, Aster decided. He watched closely while Larisa helped the werewolf into bed, though she was careful not to touch him more than necessary.

Once Jack was tucked under the blankets, Aster moved closer, until he could curl up next to the young man's hip. Jack rested one hand on Aster's back, and sighed.

"Sleep well, little man," he murmured. "Tomorrow's going to be hell."

Aster wasn't sure what Jack meant by that, but he doubted it'd be as bad as Jack expected. After all, the werewolf had survived... and apart from a nagging worry about the Nightmare sand still in his system, Aster expected a clean recovery.

He'd just have to wait and see what Jack meant, he decided, nose pressed against Jack's wrist.

* * *

The werewolf snarled, eyes red and bones in his jaw cracking as his teeth tried to shift and sharpen. "For the last fucking time, I'm not invalid! I can walk all the way to the fucking dining room, you shit-coloured walking carpet. Now move!"

Aster shook his head, and looked over at the bravest of the miniature fairies. The rest were huddled under the bed, but this one actually looked amused at Jack's show of temper. She giggled, catching Jack's attention... lucky for the yeti.

Jack snorted at her. "Think that's funny, do you?" he asked, and limped over to the bed. He paused when he heard the other fairies, and bent over to check on them. It hurt; Aster could see it in the way Jack suppressed a wince. That angle had to be hell on his ribs, and the punctured lung.

"Hey there, ladies... I'm not angry with you, you know. You don't have to hide under there, come on, there you go..."

Under Jack's patient crooning, the fairies did move out from under the bed, resettling on various perches around the room. It was astonishing how many could fit on a door handle, Aster thought, and then turned his attention back to Jack. The werewolf's mood had flipped again, and he was pacing back and forth like an angry wolf prowling a fence line.

Jack wasn't limping, but he was moving stiffly. So he didn't trust the yeti enough to show how much his legs pained him, never mind the rest of his body. Aster frowned at that, but before he could move and catch Jack's eye, the bedroom door opened and a small parade of yeti carrying dishes of food entered.

At least food got Jack out of his bad mood. He settled down in the chair that had been brought in for his breakfast, and propped his elbows on the edge of the table that had arrived for the same reason. The table was big enough to hold approximately half of the dishes brought in, but the yeti seemed content to stand around waiting for a space to be cleared. As Jack ate, the empty platters were taken away. Several yeti offered platters of freshly sliced fruit to the fairies, who - after a quick glance at Aster, and a quicker one at Jack - descended in a mob. Those platters were cleared almost as fast as the ones Jack was intent on.

Jack began to slow down, and Aster moved until he was as close to the werewolf as he could get, considering he wasn't about to jump down off the bed. Jack frowned, and then nodded.

"C'mon," he said. "You can have first pick of the rest."

Aster dropped down off the bed, and hopped over to where Jack could pick him up. The werewolf propped Aster up on his less injured thigh, while Aster had expected a seat on the table. Much though he wanted to move, spare Jack the ache of a ten pound weight on his bruises, he didn't. Jack's lap was a comfortable place to be.

The second half of the meal wasn't as heavy on meat as the first half, something Aster had to be thankful for. Much though he liked, say, chicken soup or a good roast beef, there were limits, and five different types of fish far surpassed that. The seven different styles of beef had just been overdoing it.

Or maybe not. Jack needed the protein to heal. Though where exactly he put it all was the question...

He helped himself to two of the salads that were on offer, one chicken and one something he didn't know how to classify, but there was a great deal of vegetables on offer. Jack might have been lusting over the meats, but Aster wanted plants.

Larisa entered as the meal ended. Jack growled at her, but it was more of an annoyed mumble than anything. Aster smirked, and rubbed his cheek against the werewolf's chest.

"You look better," Larisa said. She sat down across from Jack, and turned to study the fairies. "As do they."

The boldest of the fairies flew forward, and then perched on Jack's shoulder. He looked surprised, and twisted to stare at her, but she ignored his wide eyes. He only caught her attention, really, when his lips parted and she could see his teeth.

Aster could have told Jack what would happen next, except for the voiceless thing. Instead, he hopped up onto the table so he wouldn't be tossed to the floor. Jack flailed, careful not to hit anyone, and made gargled sounds that managed to be at once amused and horrified.

The other fairies sounded impressed as they squeaked and chittered to each other. No doubt they were all working up the courage to dive into Jack's mouth, just as soon as their bolder sister was pulled out.

The fairy did climb out of Jack's mouth after a few minutes, squeaking delight about his teeth. Jack, unfortunately for the other fairies, kept his mouth clamped shut... until he spat out a bright green feather and frowned at the fairy.

"No shedding in my mouth," he muttered, and caressed her forehead with one finger. "Evil little thing, aren't you?"

She laughed at him, the high sounds making Aster's ears ache a little.

"You realize such an injunction will only encourage the others?" Larisa asked. "After all, you have implied approval as long as they do not leave feathers behind."

Jack hunched his shoulders. "Well, they don't taste good..."

Aster snorted, and waggled his eyebrows at the little fairy. She flew over to him, and perched on his back. She was tinier than he'd realized; there were surely a whole host of hummingbirds that weighed more than she did.

Larisa sobered, and folded her hands on the table. "We need to speak about what you found in Pitch's lair."

Jack snarled, and pushed away from the table. He started pacing again, his upper lip curling away from his teeth and giving the fairies a good view. Despite their obvious fear, they were just as obvious in their interest in Jack's chompers. Aster figured the interest would overcome the fear quickly enough, especially once they saw that Jack was mostly bluster and no bite.

To the fairies, at least.

"What do you want to know?" Jack grumbled, glancing up at Larisa as he stalked nearer. His eyes were red again, Aster noticed, and the Pooka sighed.

Almost immediately after Jack picked him up and cuddled him to his chest. Aster blinked, but didn't protest the repositioning. Instead, he shifted until he could press his nose to Jack's throat. Still nothing to worry about in the werewolf's scent. Not a hint of corruption, though there was an _odd_ scent near Jack's shoulder and his ribs.

It wasn't the scent of nightmare sand, though, so Aster wasn't worried. Much.

The little fairy repositioned herself on Jack's shoulder again, and stared alternatively at Larisa and Jack, depending on if the mortal was visible or not.

"Did you see any evidence of the Guardians?" Larisa asked. "Toothiana, Sanderson, Bunny, or... or Nicholas?"

Sometimes it was hard to remember North was married to this woman. Sometimes, though... Aster caught Jack's collar in his teeth, nibbling gently at the flannel. Sometimes it was painfully obvious.

"Nothing of Sanderson or Bunny," Jack said. He caressed Aster's ears, and looked down at the Pooka. "Not that I'd worry, Joey. I'm sure he's fine, wherever he is."

Yes, Aster thought. He was. Half ready to tear his ears off from frustration sometimes, but otherwise fine.

"But Toothiana and Nicholas?"

Jack gestured to the fairies. "It might have been them I smelt, but... yes. Feathers and peppermint." Jack pursed his lips. "I don't think they're completely gone. There have to be a few children left that still believe, ones that haven't lost their teeth yet."

"You think Pitch has them, then. Can you rescue them, as you rescued the fairies?" Larisa gestured to the fairies in question, who looked confused.

Did they not know where Tooth was, or North? Sandy had been killed... maybe. Consumed by the black sand, for certain, but killed? Aster was beginning to doubt that, considering the bag of dreamsand hanging on the back of the bedroom door. He would have thought the fairies knew where their mother was, but perhaps that awareness went only one way. Tooth was usually fairly predictable as to where she was, after all.

"Not if they're wisps," Jack warned. "And... they probably are."

Larisa looked confused. Jack blinked at her and then huffed.

"Right. Wisps are... wisps are spirits that have lost the ability to hold a shape," he said. "They cluster in deserts, mostly. Fewer things to remind them what they were. Last wisp I met claimed to have been Zeus. Since it was also trying to get into my pants, somehow... maybe. Mostly they're not coherent, though. But I've heard the odd rumour that you can take a wisp, give it power, and... reform the spirit in the image you want."

Aster hadn't heard that rumour, but if anyone could, it'd be Pitch. Sounded much like fearling infections, just on a lesser scale.

"Could that be done to the Guardians?"

Jack shrugged. "What's the opposite of Santa? Or the Tooth Fairy? There's no reason to assume he can't. There's also no reason to assume he can. The best idea is to restore belief, so they'll get stronger. Stronger they are, less likely he can do anything to them."

Aster winced, but wasn't able to say anything. On the other hand, stronger they were, the more likely it was they'd get free from Pitch's trap and escape, like he had. And perhaps Sandy... He eyed the bag of dreamsand again, and looked up at Jack.

There'd need to be a lot more sand if the Sandman was going to come back, but Jack had done well so far.

"You have rescued the fairies," Larisa mused aloud. "If the teeth are once more collected, belief in the Tooth Fairy will return."

"Long as there's quarters left behind, or something," Jack muttered. "Where'd she even get all them...?"

"Magic, of course. And for that... the elves can easily create the appropriate coinage. It will give them something to do that is more to their talents, instead of messing about with electricity and wires, which they don't understand." She looked up at the fairies. "Should you be willing, of course."

The little fairy on Jack's shoulder seemed gung ho, but the rest were understandably reluctant. Jack looked up at them, and smiled.

"Well, you don't have to decide right now. Let's get you a bit more recovered from being locked up before you go flying around the world again. Though if you do..." He looked over at Larisa. "Where can we keep the teeth? They'll have to be sorted, right?"

Larisa wrinkled her nose. "I honestly have no idea. We'll set aside a few storage rooms, clear them out. That should do for the short term."

And at some point... How could Aster suggest they look for the teeth Pitch had stolen? Ah well, that was a problem he'd think on, later.

"We have several months before Christmas," Larisa said. "Collecting the teeth, and your combat with the Nightmares, shall have to take priority. After," she added, with a quelling look, "you have healed. Speaking of healing, I need to check your injuries and change your bandages."

Jack growled at her, and started to back away. Aster shifted, and managed to whine loud enough Jack heard him.

The werewolf glanced down, and was caught by Aster's sad expression. He hated himself a little for being reduced to _this_ , but it worked. Jack stopped backing away, though he didn't stop growling.

"The puppy dog eyes are cheating," Jack told him, and sat down.

Larisa smiled, and gestured at the nightgown. "That will need to come off."

"With ladies present?" Jack asked, and gestured at the fairies.

The mortal frowned. "Am I not a lady?"

"You're a medic, that's different..." Jack shifted in his seat, and then brightened. "Oh, and married, so you've seen it all before!"

"Done a bit more than just look, boy," Larisa muttered. "I'll get you a lap blanket, for your poor, delicate sensibilities..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Healing after a battle, even with werewolf healing, is generally harder and more exhausting than the fight itself. Poor Jack.


	16. Chapter 16

"Strange," Jack muttered, and brushed at the wound in his side. There was still more sand to fester out, both from his side and from his armpit, he could feel it, but there was already a fair amount piled up on the table. He hadn't thought the knives had been that big, but there was more sand on the table than in the bag he'd been collecting dreamsand in.

The sand that had festered out was golden... mostly, now. It'd been blue in the bandages and on his skin. It still had a blue sheen, much like his snowballs or special snowflakes. Joey seemed interested in the sand, as did the leader of the Tooth Fairy's daughters. _That_ one seemed ready to start a sand bath in the stuff, though thus far she was refraining.

At least it acted like the ordinary dreamsand did. All Jack had to do was slowly wave a handful of the stuff over anything fallen to the floor, and the stuff on the floor would float up and join his handful. Weird, but useful, especially since Larisa had judged he could finally do away with the last of the bandages.

Jack figured he could've been rid of the bandages two days ago, but the fussing seemed to make her happy. Or as happy as she ever was, considering her husband was probably a wisp, captured by Pitch Black.

"How much more sand will come out of you, do you think?" Larisa asked.

Jack scratched at the itchy spot under his arm, and grunted. "Hopefully it'll be done by tomorrow morning," he said. "I hate it when things need to fester out," he added.

Joey looked up and seemed to laugh at him. "Yeah, yeah," he said in reply to the mockery. "I know, I'm a horrible patient."

At least he hadn't killed anyone in a temper. Though that one yeti was probably going to avoid him for the rest of forever, after the whole... broken arm... thing.

Jack took a quick look around the room, and winced. Four broken lamps, one broken table, one chair picked up and thrown out the window, so one broken window to that tally... Then the injuries to the yeti when he'd been surprised out of a nap. Wasn't like he'd been able to sleep for very long, not with the sand festering out.

It itched, and then it hurt, and then he was clawing at his side or his armpit until there was blood under his nails and everyone was angry with him about it. Confrontations usually led to screaming fights, which led to things being thrown, which... yeah.

Joey nudged at his hand, blatantly asking for cuddles. Jack did not hesitate in obliging; thus far, only the little rabbit had been able to calm the werewolf down from screaming at the top of his lungs and trying to kill people. And the little monster knew it, too. He'd been cadging ear scratches and belly rubs at every opportunity.

"Evil little beast," he murmured, and cuddled Joey up to his favourite spot, tucked under Jack's chin. The rabbit's fur was warm and soft against Jack's throat, and surprisingly calming. Not that he'd taken advantage of that to get a couple hours' sleep, or anything.

Well. Maybe once or twice, when the rage was really bad.

He sighed, and looked the little fairies over. Larisa smirked at him while he did it, because at least seven were using her shoulders as a perch. They looked well enough, he supposed. Better than just after their rescue. Still worried, unfortunately, but better.

Check up done, he turned his attention back to Larisa. "This stuff doesn't work on me," he offered. He'd tried a pinch of it before bed. All he'd gotten was sore eyes from the sand irritating them, and a sore neck from flailing out of the bed in shock and landing on his head.

Joey twisted in his hold, and started snuffling at Jack's neck. He felt Silver turn to goo in the back of his mind.

"Perhaps because it was in you?" Larisa poked at the bowl, not the sand. They already knew it worked on _her_. Not that a casual poke would make people fall asleep, any more than a casual poke at normal dreamsand sent people snoring. But the first time they'd changed the bandages and found sand in them, well... There'd been a sneeze, a spray of sand, and now that he thought about it Jack should've figured on the altered sand not working on him from the first.

Oh well. It wasn't like he'd been _hurt_ or anything.

Jack freed one hand, and ran his fingers through the sand. "Maybe I contaminated it," he mused. It'd somehow turned from the black sand - nightmare sand, he guessed - into dreamsand while in his body. That was honestly more surprising than it coming out blue. "With my magic, I mean."

Larisa shrugged. "You know more of magic than I do," she reminded him.

And wasn't that a sad statement of fact? "Have the yeti figured anything out for gathering the teeth?" he asked. The miniature fairies stirred, and he could hear a bit of whispering, but that was about it. Jack wasn't going to push them, though. They didn't want to go out, and he couldn't blame them.

But they needed to collect the teeth. Jack's downtime had been good for one thing, and that was sorting out his thoughts. They needed the teeth, they needed children believing again. Jack, obviously, couldn't collect every lost tooth on his own; he couldn't travel fast enough, he needed time off to eat and sleep, and he couldn't magic his way through windows the way the fairies could.

The yeti had been, at Larisa's direction, experimenting. The elves had been involved at one point. He was pretty sure he'd have noticed explosions, though, so there probably hadn't been any.

Larisa sighed. "Phil has a plan," she said. "There are more yeti than seen on the work floor. Nicholas only employs a fraction of their numbers. There are enough to have several yeti in each settlement to help collect the teeth, and keep a twenty-four hour rotation. The production of snow globes can be stepped up to have a minimum of ten globes for each yeti, per night. The only difficulty is getting hold of the teeth. Telling which house has a shed tooth under the pillow, getting through the windows, that is the one thing no one has found a way around."

Jack went back to cuddling Joey. "Are they going to want to be paid?"

Larisa waved one hand in dismissal. "Not at all. Well, not in the way you think of payment, of money for services. No, they will be paid in other ways."

"Yeah, okay, how?" Jack stopped stroking Joey's fur, and frowned at Larisa. "If it's something, you know, bad..."

He supposed the scary Russian lady had _practiced_ that look. In a mirror. Jack returned it, with interest.

"I know you dislike the yeti," Larisa said. "But they are good people. And it is rare for them to be able to go out and do such a wholesale collection of things. Pine branches, river rocks, sticks of incense or the materials to make incense. The yeti that work on the floor have the most time to go out and do such collection. The rest..." She shrugged. "Farming, blacksmithing, animal husbandry... most careers that do not leave much by way of spare time. The modern process of factory and machine does not work well for them, so they must do much by way of their hands."

Oh yeah, Jack remembered _those_ days. He could probably still spin yarn, if he had a drop spindle and wool, but machines could do it faster and more evenly. Machines also... Jack frowned, and felt at the table in front of them. It felt nice, sanded smooth and then polished, but there was something else, too, just on the edge of things, like the feelings he picked up from storms...

_"Home,"_ Silver prompted. _"Feels like home. Stores don't."_

That was it. Jack could feel the sense of _home_ , even if it wasn't his home, from the table. From all the furniture, really. It was warm, and welcoming, as benefitting a guest room. Made sense that things made by hand would have that feeling from the start. Going off of that, things, what, made in a factory took a while to break in?

"Yeti are more sensitive to this stuff, huh?" he asked.

"I am reasonably certain most of them have some empathic abilities, yes."

Jack nodded, and leaned back in his chair. "Well, there's not much else we can do today," he pointed out. His side was starting to itch again. Probably be better to get squishy human people out of the line of fire. "And it's getting late. What's say we hit the problem again tomorrow?"

Larisa frowned, but glanced down to his chest, covered by a light, linen shirt but still, she knew where he'd been stabbed. She'd done the bandages, after all. "After lunch. There are some few matters to attend to in the morning."

"I'll sleep late," he assured her. Or something. Maybe he'd venture out, find some yarn and knitting needles. Or find someone who spoke English and harassed them into reading him a book or... he didn't know.

Maybe he'd go out and hunt some wild animal, get some meat into his system. And not the fancy cooked meals he'd been given, but something a little more bloody.

The fairies settled down once Larisa had left. Jack turned out the lights, the waxing moon shining enough light through the window to see where everything was. Jack thought the bowl of blue-tinted dreamsand was glowing more than normal dreamsand did, but he didn't really care if it was or not.

* * *

Aster woke up when the pillow underneath him vanished.

He flailed, and shoved up onto all fours. He looked around, and spotted red eyes and a furious snarl seconds before Jack tore Aster's pillow in two.

The feathery explosion was... interesting.

Aster sneezed, sending a single puff of down flying. More settled on his back, on his head, and around him like warm, feathery snow. Or something. It was - what, three in the morning? How was he supposed to make up similes and metaphors and who knew what else at three in the morning?

He looked over at Jack, who - oh. It was safe to giggle, Aster reminded himself. He couldn't make a sound. And Jack looked _adorable_ , with wide red eyes and such a confused expression, shreds of pillow casing still hanging from his mouth and downy feathers _everywhere_. He kept giggling, even as Jack spat out the pillow casing and swiped at the feathers, which only made things worse.

Jack's red eyes lightened to blue, but didn't get any less confused. There was muttering, along with the odd 'pfft' of spitting out a feather or two. Aster didn't really listen in, the muttering was all variations on "what happened" and "where did all these feathers come from" and the like.

After a few minutes, Jack turned on one of the lamps. A few of the little fairies murmured, disturbed by the light, but didn't actually wake up. Not that Aster could tell, at least. One or two might have cracked an eye open or something.

The light, at least, let Jack clean up. Or wave the feathers off the bed and onto the floor. Aster grinned, and shook the feathers off. His grin widened as Jack looked over at him, and he hopped towards the werewolf. Blue sand rubbed against the pads of his feet, and he paused to look down at it.

There was a fair amount scattered on the sheets, bright blue and with its own luminescence. That was fading, as quickly as the blue color.

Jack reached over and picked Aster up. "Yeah," he murmured, his voice rough with left-over sleep. "Let's clean that stuff up before going back to sleep."

Aster hummed silently, and rubbed his cheek against Jack's jaw. He was a horrible person and no one would like him when they found out, but he just couldn't _help it_. He was in love, up to his ears in admiration for the werewolf, winter sprite or no. Jack was strong, and smart, and doing what he could to protect children even though he only had guesses about what was going on. He could have ignored the Nightmares, or just protected the town near his cave, but he was doing what he could for the whole _world_. He just _had_ to claim the winter spirit for his own.

The past few months had made Aster regret not getting to know Jack before this. If he'd met Jack before, befriended him... Well, it would have been something.

He made himself comfortable against Jack's shoulder, pleased that the werewolf had foregone a nightgown or, indeed, clothing, once the bandages had come off. He didn't even look like he'd been injured, anymore, the rough patches where the sand had been festering out smoothed over.

Fully healed, Aster thought, while Jack collected the altered dreamsand in the bowl. The werewolf's rate of healing was hard to comprehend, even when displayed so prominently.

Jack finished his cleaning, and settled down in bed again. "Sorry about your pillow," he mumbled. He turned out the light, and shifted until he was on his back, Aster curled up on his chest. It wasn't a spot Aster was unhappy about, that was certain.

"Dunno what I was dreaming, but must've been something." The werewolf stroked one large hand over Aster's back, and hummed to himself under his breath.

Aster purred under the gentle touches, a little surprised that the rumbling vibration was audible. It was quiet, but Jack heard it. So, his throat was healing. A little faster than he'd expected it to, even; he'd figured it wouldn't be for another six months for this sort of thing. It'd been... less than three, wasn't it now? Or just three.

North American summer, Aster thought, and edging towards autumn. A few days to the new moon.

He yawned, and rubbed his chin against Jack's collarbone. The werewolf was warm underneath him, skin smooth and muscles firm. The gentle rise and fall of Jack's chest as he breathed was quickly lulling Aster back to sleep, but Jack ruined that by talking.

"You're adorable, you know that?" Jack stroked his fingers along one ear. Aster forgave him for disturbing the quiet and delaying the Pooka's well-deserved slumber.

"'Course, it figures, your dad being who he is..." Jack chuckled, the low rumble reminding Aster more of far-off thunder than a sound of good humour. Of course, he was keeping quiet so as not to disturb the little fairies sleeping around the room. That must have had something to do with it.

Aster nudged at Jack's wrist. What did his 'father' have to do with anything?

And should he be worried that he was starting to think of it less of his proper shape, and more as his 'father'?

"He's adorable too," Jack confided, and grinned. "Don't get me wrong, he's a tough son of a... but the only person cuter than him would be you. And that's just because you're tiny and cuddly and so fluffy I could _die_."

If he bit Jack on the jugular vein, would the idiot shut up? He wasn't _cute_. He might have been fluffy, but he wasn't _cute_ and he wasn't _adorable_ and it was very hard to get angry when Jack was scratching at Aster's neck like that.

"I've watched him, you know." Yes. He'd known. It'd been very annoying. "He talks a good game, but he's just a giant marshmallow inside. Put a human kid in front of him, and he just melts. Or ducklings." Jack chuckled. "Oh wow, the ducklings. That was something. That was... Man oh man, that was fun."

Ducklings, ducklings... oh, right. Aster managed, somehow, not to cringe, but it was close.

"Doesn't like dogs, though." Jack huffed. "Not so good for me. Werewolf. Might not be furry, but still, wolf."

Aster rubbed his chin against Jack's collarbone again.

"Aw, at least you like me, Joey. But yeah, your dad..." Jack sighed, and wiggled a little. Getting comfortable, Aster hoped. Sooner Jack slept, sooner he'd stop talking about how cute Aster was. Which he wasn't. Cute, that is.

"He makes a big show of being the big, grumpy rabbit. But, eh, the more uptight he gets, the more adorable he looks. Don't you think?" Jack tickled under Aster's chin, and shook his head. "Actually, don't think that. That's definitely adult thinks right there. And not family thinks. Though a guy, a girl, might be making a family thinks..."

Aster blinked. What.

"Anyways. I'm going to try and sleep some more. Hopefully I won't kill another pillow, yeah?" Jack rested his hand on Aster's back, and closed his eyes. "Sleep well, Joey. Kick me if I start snoring."

Jack drifted off quickly enough, but Aster wasn't able to follow. Jack thought he was adorable... but he'd also mentioned 'adult' thoughts, implied sexual thoughts...

Oh. Aster blinked again. He had quite a bit to think about, now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's right, Bun, your hopeless crush might not be so hopeless! You know, once you're all big and muscles again, instead of small and cuddly... -snerk-


	17. Chapter 17

An unholy clatter woke Jack from a sound sleep. He flailed up and sideways out of bed, hitting the floor in a tangle of bed sheets and confusion. Birds shrilled and pottery clattered and something heavy landed on his _head_.

Joey grunted, a tiny little sound Jack only just heard, and jumped down off of his perch. Which was Jack's head. Well, at least the little guy had landed on him instead of the other way around.

He pulled his way free of the blankets, and scratched at his head. He'd woken up with memories of a kitchen accident and Grace beating out sparks with a towel. This was vaguely like that, but with more hummingbirds. Wait, no, they were the miniature fairies.

Jack reached out and caught one, just as she stopped shrilling and fell asleep. Another hit his shoulder and rolled off. He caught her, too.

He looked around, and sighed. The fairies were at least quieting down, but only because they were falling asleep mid-air. At least they were light; hitting the floor, shelves, or walls probably wouldn't hurt them much. Maybe bruises, if they were unlucky.

He stood there for several minutes, utterly confused. There wasn't a fire, Grace wasn't in the room armed with a towel, and the sleeping fairies were so alien to what he'd woken up expecting he was half convinced he was still dreaming.

Joey nudged him in the shin, and moved carefully over to where there had been a table. Something - or multiple fairies, perhaps - had knocked it over. And the bowl full of altered dreamsand. Which had, predictably enough, ended up all over the fairies. Jack could see it now, even see how it'd happened; the bowl had gotten knocked over and several of the fairies hit with the sand. When they'd collapsed into dreaming, their sisters had panicked; only to be expected, considering what they'd already gone through. But in their panicking, they'd knocked the table over, all gotten hit with the altered sand, and kept flying around until the sand put them to sleep.

He put the two fairies down on the bed, and moved over to the door. There was a small pile of sleeping fairies in front of it. They never noticed when he eased the door open, or when he stuck his head out and called for a nearby yeti.

"I need some help cleaning up the fairies," he told the surprised creature. "There was an accident with the dreamsand."

The yeti surprised him by laughing.

* * *

Jack was more than happy to point at that moment as _the_ moment; his war against the Boogieman to restore children's belief in the Guardians hit a turning point right then and there, he felt. Not only had he managed to maim Pitch badly enough that he'd be months in healing - though not dead, unfortunately - but the fairies, when they woke, were no longer the timid creatures they had been.

They were, once more, willing to go out and collect teeth. Not alone; there would have to be yeti, armed with sachets of dreamsand to protect them. But the fairies were willing, with those few precautions, and Jack was certain that would help restore belief again.

After all, if the Tooth Fairy was collecting teeth and leaving coins, surely the others had to be real. That was just how it worked.

Six of the fairies seemed... more mature than their siblings. Jack quickly deputized them, considering he knew nothing of how the whole teeth collection worked. They confirmed they had names, but he had no idea what they were. It was hard to decipher their high pitched little voices, harder when he couldn't figure out what language the names were in. So he gave them nicknames; Charity and Helen, Goldbug and June, Ellie, and the leader of the six, Baby Tooth. Unlike the vast majority of their sisters, the six were not identical. Jack could at least tell them apart, though he couldn't tell between the rest of the fairies.

Baby Tooth was the boldest of the lot, most willing to take her time talking with him, and seemed to prefer spending time with Jack when she wasn't directing her sisters. Ellie was a bit bigger than the rest of the fairies, and rather serious. Goldbug's feathers were tipped with gold - thus the name - and June was more blue than green. The two of them were as alike in personality as two peas were in appearance; both rather light-hearted, the closest the fairies had to a pair of sly pranksters. Nothing would get between them and their duty, but once they were resting, well...

Jack encouraged them, of course. It was always amusing watching the yeti search for small objects that had been mislaid, or see elves running through odd pantomimes in exchange for cookies.

Charity and Helen looked the most identical out of the six, their green feathers shimmering with a violet hue, and their eyes a coppery brown unlike any of the other fairies. Charity, like the name Jack had bestowed upon her, was generous to a fault. If any of the other fairies so much as looked like they wanted something she had, she'd immediately give it up, be it a choice morsel of food, a spot on Jack's shoulder, or any other small thing the girls were beginning to collect. Helen was Charity's warrior-protector, chiding her generous sister and those willing to take advantage of her in equal measure. Helen ensured Charity got what was her due, just the same as everyone else.

The other fairies didn't seem to understand when Jack asked about their names, and while they were good natured and sweet, they didn't seem to have much in the way of personalities. His six named fairies couldn't explain in a way he understood, either. In the end, he settled with the explanation of "they're younger", which didn't explain anything after all.

But it did help him not feel as guilty, not having given the other fairies names.

Jack went out every night he could, helping patrol for Nightmares - of which there were always a handful, at least, to turn back into dreamsand - and doing his best to keep an eye on the situation. As the late spring turned into summer, which itself began to roll into autumn, he began switching his sleeping patterns. Once autumn well and truly hit he'd be busy with his own duties; a lack of believers didn't mean he lacked for work. And besides, he wanted to see how their efforts had worked out for the children.

The difference he found was like that between a prison yard and a playground. The children looked like they were actually sleeping through the night, and chatted with each other about the latest games, the latest television shows - Power Rangers were making a comeback, Jack was pleased to hear, and someone had found the old Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles cartoons from '03. He'd have to remember to get a hold of the season DVDs... and maybe a TV. The North Pole probably had one.

The children still seemed somewhat tired and subdued, but not as badly as they'd once been. There was talk, now and again, about having found money under their pillow after they'd lost a tooth, and the tooth being gone from the garbage the morning after. Once children started hearing those stories, they started putting the teeth under their pillows again, which made life easier on the little fairies.

Jack directed the yeti, and helped his six deputies with their sisters, and watched the children. He kept Joey with him. It wasn't peaceful, but the worst of the violence seemed gone from the nightmares; as summer turned to the first blush of autumn, they began to run instead of standing their ground. Jack chased them and hit them with dreamsand, of course, turning the black horses gold, but it meant the fairies were left alone.

And then, one new moon, something unexpected happened.

The Sandman returned.

* * *

Aster perched on Jack's shoulder, even as the werewolf perched on a rooftree. He wasn't sure what neighbourhood they were in - somewhere in Japan, away from the cities, where the construction looked more traditional. Aster admired a cherry tree in the front yard, and the way the pale leaves looked against the dark grass and darker sky. It was peaceful, the fairies having collected three teeth - a schoolyard battle, apparently - and gone on their way. Jack hadn't followed, to Aster's relief.

He just wasn't used to all this running about. Aster sighed, and nuzzled Jack's ear when the werewolf glanced over at him. He hummed, and blinked when his efforts finally produced a sound. About time, though he doubted he'd be talking anytime soon.

Jack grinned, and stroked the tips of his fingers along Aster's throat. "Yeah," he said. "Nice to just relax a little... really?" He huffed, and stared over Aster's back. The Pooka didn't have a chance to look around before Jack turned, glowering at moving shadows.

The Nightmares didn't seem aware of the winter sprite watching them. They slunk out of the darkness, their golden eyes wary, moving like nervous horses. It was the most animalistic Aster had seen them act.

Did it mean Pitch's powers over them were lessening? Or was it just an odd tick of belief? He'd seen it time and again in the lesser spirits, those whose forms were entirely dependent on what people thought of them. If children believed in Nightmares less as monsters coming to terrify them, and more as horses that carried bad dreams, well... horses they would become in action, as well.

"Huh," Jack breathed, ghosting along the top of the roof as he followed the Nightmares. "I was expecting them to be scrawnier."

If they were ordinary phantasms, Aster supposed they would have been. The Nightmares had been starved of fear, after all.

Although... they were constructs. Perhaps it wasn't the Nightmares being starved, but Pitch.

He smirked at the thought. No one was more deserving of that fate than the Boogieman.

He dug his claws into Jack's sweater, securing himself on the winter spirit's shoulder. Jack glanced up at him, grinned, and then went back to his hunting. A pity Jack's special snowflakes didn't work without the Nightmares already corrupting a child's dream. Aster couldn't help but feel guilty, seeing those little faces start to twist up in distress.

The fact that the distress never lasted more than a few seconds didn't _matter_. Not really. Jack battering Nightmares and somehow stripping the sand of the corruption, however, did make him feel better.

Aster almost fell off Jack's shoulder, and stared at the werewolf. Stripping the black sand of Pitch's corruption... Jack had been doing that almost from the first! No wonder getting stabbed with Nightmare sand didn't do anything to him. Well, Aster amended, recalling the alternating raging and sulking Jack had done, nothing but inconvenience and annoy the werewolf, at least.

Jack's hunt of the Nightmares went the way that had become the expected norm; the five constructs focused in on one small child, tainting his - or her, at that age it was rather hard to tell - dreams, making them darker.

And then Jack flicked a blue-tinted snowflake into the dream, causing the five Nightmares to shatter and become small wisps and piles of golden sand.

A quick pinch of golden sand over the child's face, and his - her? The dreams seemed to be of dresses and shoes, but that hardly meant anything - expression smoothed out. The rest of the sand was collected into the bag Jack used to carry his supply in.

There was quite a lot of it, Aster realized. Even with the handfuls the yeti took, there was enough in Jack's bag to bury a toddler in, it seemed. Or make a toddler, though the sand was all in a lump and toddlers were wriggly, fleshy things.

Aster wiggled his ears at the thought, and shifted to huddle against Jack's neck. The night air was a little chill, and the werewolf was, as always, warm. Not too warm, thankfully; Pooka did share a few things with rabbits, and the overheating problem was one of them. If Jack had been like a furnace, there would have been issues. But no, the werewolf was a pleasantly warm temperature, like a gentle summer's night.

And his skin was silken smooth against the Pooka's muzzle.

Jack twitched, almost sending Aster off his shoulder. The werewolf reached up and steadied him with one hand, absently. "Ow?"

What now? Aster sat back onto his haunches and looked around, and then down. Jack was up on a roof again; had he stepped on something?

There didn't seem to be anything but cool tiles underfoot. Yet Jack was still casting about.

The werewolf twitched again, and looked down at his bag. "Huh," he said, and opened it up.

A small, sleepy-looking star-man squinted up at them. Sandy wrinkled his nose, and clenched his eyes shut.

Jack closed the bag again, and looked up at the sky. "That's... new..." He turned to look at Aster. "I think we need to talk to Larisa. Don't you?"

Aster nodded, and scrambled down into Jack's sweater pocket for the flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jack's efforts are having an effect, aren't they! Next chapter picks up a bit, woo, and Sandy does absolutely nothing. Faking faker who fakes like a faker. Bunny is disappointed in you, Sandy! But yeah, no, we're heading in to the fun of "almost time for final confrontation" and Jack is gonna be very werewolf for that. -evil grin-


	18. Chapter 18

"Enough!" Jack roared, and flipped the table over.

The yeti scattered. The elves scrambled. Larisa ducked a flying ink well.

"There is _no point_ in me checking these thrice-damned lists," he spat. "I cannot read! And there is no time for me to learn! Have - have Phil do it!" he demanded, gesturing at the overgrown lug. If anyone was going under the proverbial bus, it wasn't going to be him. "He can come with me during the deliveries.

"And if _one more person_ asks me why there's so many presents, when I've explained dozens of times already..."

The elves scurried forward and began collecting the papers, quills, and other... desk... stuff... that had gone flying. They seemed to be doing a good job of it too; they found things Jack hadn't noticed, if only because it'd been under a couch or behind a potted plant.

The inkwell was shattered, and the ink was staining the floorboards a lovely copper color.

"There was no need to yell," Larisa pointed out.

Jack snorted, and turned on his heel. He'd left Joey in his room, with a few of the off-shift fairies. The little rabbit had been subdued lately, becoming withdrawn and sad-looking as the Christmas preparations swung into high gear. He brightened up whenever Jack took off to handle his own work, even if he seemed confused by what the frost spirit was doing.

"Apparently there was," he said, when Larisa followed him. "They weren't _listening_ before the table went flying."

Larisa smiled, and tugged her shirt a little straighter. Jack normally ignored Larisa's clothes - they were there, she wasn't naked, his colonial sensibilities weren't given anything worse than a pair of trousers to fret about - but this was... new.

And ugly.

"Are the buttons supposed to light up like that?" he asked, Silver taking one look and recoiling from the monstrosity.

Nightmares, Pitch Black, and that Shenlob thing were nothing to an ugly Christmas sweater with googly-eyed reindeer and glowing red-and-green buttons.

Ah, correction. _Flashing_ , glowing red-and-green buttons.

It took a bit of prodding from Silver before Jack could look away. Once he had, he rubbed his eyes with the heels of both hands, pressing until there were flashes of color and light behind his eyelids.

He chanced a quick look over at Larisa, focusing on her face and not on the... sweater... and huffed. She was smirking at him.

"What?"

Larisa smoothed one hand down the front of her sweater. "Do you like it? Nicholas got it for me, some few years ago. It helps me get into... the Christmas spirit." She looked up at the rafters with a considering air.

Jack thought about the gun she carried around. Concealed, of course; he only saw it two times out of ten, and even then, he could never be sure he was _seeing_ it, or just _thinking_ he saw it. He could smell it, though. And then he thought about what she'd told him, personal history-wise. And then he had to wonder just why freaking _Santa Claus_ would go and develop a pash for someone who _had_ to be a _KGB assassin_.

The man had to be crazy. Had to be. Danger was all well and good in a mate, Jack supposed, but there was dangerous and then there were assassins.

She left him at the corner, going towards the kitchens while Jack turned towards his room. The tantalizing smells of roast goose, smoked and glazed ham, seven-organ-stew and other goodies wafted after him. Unfortunately, the good smells were paired with the bad; mashed turnips and mushy peas with lemon-butter, fruitcake and oranges. Jack had never managed to warm up to oranges, or lemons, or limes, even though he'd known plenty of people back in Germany or the colonies who'd have happily killed for a single slice.

He snorted, and let himself into his room. Joey was curled up under the blankets, creating a tiny little lump halfway down the bed. The werewolf grinned, Silver edging forward with a sudden surge of playful mischief. Jack happily handed over the proverbial reins. It'd been a long time since his wolf had felt so happy, almost giddy.

On silent feet they stalked forward, creeping towards the bed. The fairies still in the room twittered a bit, but quieted down when he held a finger to his lips. One of his ladies, Goldbug, flit down and perched on his shoulder. When he glanced over, it was hard to tell, but he was sure her eyes were dancing with mischief.

Jack paused at the side of the bed, staring at the lump. Nothing. Not a quiver, not a shift. He was undetected. Good.

He grabbed the sheets, and yanked them into the air.

Joey squeaked and flailed, scrabbling at the sheets and twisting over upside down and coming to rest on the bed sheet, mouth gaping and eyes bulging. Jack giggled, and scooped the little adorable ball of fluff up.

"Hello my Joey! Are you feeling any better from this morning?"

* * *

No, no he wasn't! The heart attack hadn't helped!

Aster batted at Jack's nose, but the werewolf ignored him completely. Instead, Jack snuffled - like a dog! - at Aster's side. It _tickled_.

Jack giggled, as if _he_ were the one being tickled, and flopped down on the bed. Aster ended up on the werewolf's chest, which wouldn't have been so bad, except for the way the idiot kept playing with his ears. Oh, if only he were his proper size and shape while Jack was doing that, he'd show the fool 'adult thoughts'... He clicked his front teeth together, which at least signaled Jack to leave off with the ears and start stroking his hands down Aster's back.

Honestly. Some people.

It was nice to see Jack so happy, he reminded himself. It was. The werewolf's eyes glittered and shone with enthusiasm, whether they were blue or red. He giggled and chortled and guffawed and laughed outright, the bright and piercing sound causing smiles in everyone who heard it. Even the yeti. Even Aster, though he was having trouble finding much of anything to be happy about.

Jack's joy should have been enough. That it wasn't, was a failing on his part. Watching Jack prance about as he inspected the yeti's work, the elves, watching him flit through the air like a bit of thistledown - it should have been enough. Jack was _happy_. Had Aster ever seen him happy like this before? If he had, he couldn't remember, and he _would_ have. He'd seen Jack content, wary, frustrated, and homicidal. He'd seen the werewolf intent on the hunt and brooding over his failures.

But not happy.

Until now. Until _Christmas_.

Christmas made Jack light up like a young star, made him dance with glee and soothed his temper. Only to be expected. Jack was a North American spirit, and that made Christmas a winter holiday for him. Of course he was going to be excited.

Aster sighed, and looked away from Jack's grin. He just wished...

A sudden wisp of dreamsand, off in the corner, caught his eye. He turned and glared at it. Sandy was a lying liar who lied! Damn Sandman; what kind of coma resulted in giggle fits every few hours? The faker was pretending to be out of it, all the better to mess with everyone!

Granted, it was good to have his friend back. Watching Sandy get eaten away by Pitch's corrupted sand had been horrifying, and when Sandy was gone, heartbreaking. But that didn't mean Aster wasn't about to kick the arse in the face for his pranks!

Or his insinuations. Sandy communicated best through dreams, which did mean people didn't always remember their conversations, but Aster could. Always had.

And what did Sandy know, anyways? He'd been... away, and then he spent most of his time pretending to sleep while people brought him handful after handful of dreamsand.

Aster grunted, and pressed his muzzle against Jack's chest. Christmas wouldn't last forever, no matter how hard the yeti worked at it. Jack wouldn't leave Easter undone; he'd done everyone else's jobs, even Sandy's. And he'd admitted fondness for Aster - or at least, Aster in his proper shape. So surely he'd take at least _some_ care with Easter, yes?

"Aw, Joey, don't be _sad_." How, exactly, did Jack twist and bend his neck enough to nuzzle at Aster's ear? If he kept doing that, Aster was going to... melt into a puddle on his chest, is what. See how Jack liked that! "I'm sorry I've been too busy for cuddles. You're still my favourite, baby-bun-wun. My favourite fluffy-butt. I love you," the werewolf crooned, and suddenly Aster's chest hurt. "From your twitchy little nose to your twitchy little tail and all your fluffy gray fuzz in between."

That cut a little too close to home, Aster decided, so he did the only thing he could think of.

He bit Jack on the nose.

* * *

Jack recoiled, not that the bite had hurt. His little Joey-boo's teeth had barely grazed the skin, never mind pinched at it. He blinked down at his fluffy little baby, confused. "Now where did that come from?" he asked, and tickled at Joey's sides.

Silver offered a memory of Emily, back when she'd been teething. She'd done her level best to chew their ears and tail raw, not that she'd been able to get anywhere with her sore gums. Then another memory, of his sister at three years old and with an upset tummy, knowing only that she hurt and not how to explain the problem or what to do to help with the pain.

"Aw, Joey, are you being a grumpy-guts?" He sniffed at the rabbit's head, but couldn't pick up any hint of sickness. Well, maybe Joey was just grumpy for having been left alone so long. There was an easy solution to that!

"C'mon, baby-bun," he said, and rolled off the bed. He cradled Joey to his chest, and caught up his staff on his way to the door. "Let's go do some of _my_ work now."

Joey struggled a little, but subsided after a bit. Jack smirked when he heard the little guy begin to hum - what would have been a rumbling purr if it'd been any louder and the source any bigger.

Jack was just glad that tiny little hum was quiet enough to be easily missed, even by his sharp ears. Lately, if he wanted to leave the Workshop, he was forced to sneak out. A part of him was in near-constant hysterics, the funny kind, at the turnabout - having to sneak _out_ when before he'd been trying to sneak _in_! - but another part of him was just cranky over it. He was three centuries in age, a werewolf, and extremely powerful when it came to ice magic!

Sure, that one crazy spirit - something to do with plants, or the earth itself, she hadn't been too clear - claimed he should have been more powerful still, but she'd also asked if he could help her track the invisible pink unicorn.

And of course he _had_ , he wasn't a jerk, but... well.

At any rate, he was forced to sneak out. This time, it involved a little-used back hallway that went to storage rooms for toys that had been made, somehow never given out, and then became too dated, or too politically incorrect to recycle for another year. The lawn darts looked fun, but they also looked like twelve inches of sharp steel meant to be thrown around by small children, so.

Jack wiggled out through a window just a shade too narrow for his shoulders, Joey safely tucked down inside his sweater-front. The brush of soft fur against his bare stomach made him shiver. It was ticklish, but - and he was a very bad werewolf for this - he couldn't help but wonder if Bunny's fur was as soft as his son's, or if it was a little coarser from the adult guard hairs, or what. And how said fur would feel like, against his bare chest and stomach and... other places.

_"It's your fault,"_ Jack told Silver.

_"What?"_

_"Our little... fixation on the Easter Bunny. I only ever thought he was cute, before. I never started getting adult thinks!"_

Silver huffed at him. _"Adult thinks are more fun."_

Yeah, yeah... and somehow, knowing the Easter Bunny had a cute little kid was making Jack's memories of a cute, huffy Bunny turn into memories of a cute, huffy, _sexy_ Bunny. Kinda weird, that, but he wasn't going to dwell on it.

Mostly because he didn't have a snowball's chance in a furnace, but whatever.

He took to the wind, one hand cupping the little Joey lump pressed against his stomach. The flight was awesome, the winds flowing smooth as silk, whatever that meant, all the way to Minnesota, where they did winter right.

Jack dropped down outside a school yard, where - despite it being a weekend, or maybe a day off - there were a bunch of kids working on a snow fort. Jack laughed, and poked at Joey until the little rabbit clawed his way up Jack's chest until he could peek out.

"Look at that," he told the mini-Easter Bunny. "Cute, aren't they? Looks like they're going on a fort variation I call number three - giant snow-boulders shoved against each other, snow packed into the gaps, and a bit of the inside carved away for more elbow room."

He sighed, in pleasured reminiscence. "My sister used to challenge the other village kids, and then had me make her that kind of fort. Between the two of us, we could hold off the other kids. Sometimes I'd sneak out the back and flank them..."

He sighed again, and turned his attention to another group of kids. He wasn't sure exactly what they were doing. Running around throwing snow into the air, mostly. They looked younger than the ones working on the snow fort, and were bundled up until they looked like multi-coloured stay-puft marshmallow men.

"That's another thing," he added. "Buttons. Zippers. Synthetic fibres. We had laces, you know, which let the wind in through the gaps. Laces and leather, which doesn't do much for keeping the heat in."

Joey rubbed his nose against Jack's chin, in what the werewolf chose to think of as sympathy.

"Eh, most of us survived." He dropped down into the snow, leaving not so much as a hint of a footprint behind as he sauntered over the field. A piercing shriek made him wince, but the laughter that followed made him grin.

He sidestepped a gaggle of running children, and watched as they stampeded past the fort-builders.

Someone yelled out "Jack Frost".

He about tripped over his feet, whirling to see who'd called his name. Not the children, surely - they couldn't see him.

But - he listened to those shrieks.

Most of the children were being chased by the one yelling. And what she was yelling...!

"Jack Frost gon nip your nose!" She laughed, tripped and fell into the snow, and came up laughing still. "Nip your nose! Jack Frost gon nip your nose!"

Jack staggered back, reaching up to clutch at his chest and touching Joey instead. He lifted the little rabbit out of his sweater, and stared at him.

"Did you hear that?" he asked. Joey nodded back. "They know my name! They - they know my name!" He looked up at the screaming children, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt and his lower lip split a little. Ow. "They, they can't see me... but they know my _name_ , Joey!"

He laughed, then, and spun in a circle. His chest hurt in the best of ways, and he needed to do something before he exploded into a blizzard of happy-flakes.

"You!" he said, and pressed a kiss to Joey's forehead. "No one knows well of the man I have seen," he crooned, something he remembered Grace singing while cooking dinner once. "He serves as protector of the young velvet green. With his silver wind whistle," he improvised, "his tune bright and clever..."

He paused just long enough to land a smacking kiss on Joey's nose. "Come kiss me Jack Frost, and I'll live forever!"

Jack cackled, and cuddled his little Joey close. "C'mon, Joey," he whispered. "Let's go back. Today's not going to get any better than this."

He leapt into the air, the wind tossing snowflakes about. The children working on their fort looked up and around, as though searching for something they'd glimpsed in passing, or heard on the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hee, Jack is happy. If he were wolf-shaped he'd be chasing his tail and begging for belly rubs, before going on a crazed run around the house. Happy-happy-happy wolf-man wants to snuggle and nuzzle and cuddle. Poor Bun. -cackle- Next chapter's Christmas!~
> 
> Also, that song Jack croons at the end is a real song. Sung (and probably written) by Heather Alexander, you can listen to it on YouTube here - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PQIncQIvoHk  
> The first song is actually "Stormbringer" which is followed immediately by "Kiss me Jack Frost". If you want to skip immediately to "Kiss me Jack Frost", go to 2.13 and that's when the song starts.


	19. Chapter 19

Jack listened to June and Ellie discuss the proposal, and then turned back to the others at the table, happily translating.

"Have you lost your minds?"

Well. _Sort of_ translating.

June flicked him in the ear, but she was grinning as well, so he couldn't have been in too much trouble. Joey, curled up against his stomach, snuffled at his belly button. Probably had nothing to do with the discussion and everything with how Jack kept flinching when he did it.

Larisa rubbed her forehead. "Jack, if you are delivering presents you need to use the sleigh. That is how this works. The very magic of Christmas is wrapped up in the use of the sleigh!"

"And I have no problem with that." Well, there were plenty of problems with the sleigh, but the magic of Christmas wasn't one of them. Jack riding in the sleigh, however... "You are aware that you want me directing those four murder-beasts your husband keeps as pets, right?"

"Mur - the reindeer are not murder-beasts!"

For once, Jack was sharing a sympathetic and understanding look with _Phil_. Antarctica was probably on fire. "They're feral, Larisa. Completely psychotic. Werewolf healing or no, if I get gutted, I will die!"

She rolled her eyes. "They won't hurt you."

Clearly, she'd never met one of North's reindeer. "Violence aside," he said, eyeing her carefully. If she started frothing at the mouth, he was bolting. "Even if they allowed me to take the reins, I have no idea how to take the reins! Someone else will need to drive. The movies usually have an elf do it, but they seem kind of... small."

"Driving the sleigh -"

"If you call it easy _you_ can do it."

Larisa pointed at herself. "Mortal."

Ah yes, the usual excuse for getting out of the dirty work. Larisa was wonderful when it came to planning, but she did like to stay in the Workshop.

Maybe there was still a hit on her for defecting from the Motherland...

"When I was mortal I didn't even know how to properly lead the _donkey_. I can't drive the sleigh." Jack folded his arms, and leaned back in his chair. "And there's not enough time to learn. It's three weeks until Santa-duty."

Which was... complicated. Most of the world celebrated Christmas, he got that part. Even countries that were primarily non-Christian celebrated it. Well, the 'message' of the holiday - cheer, family, good will towards fellow man - certainly fit quite a few different cultures, so. It was where things got beyond "present under a tree" or the faith his family and village had followed that his understanding got a little... fuzzy.

For instance, he was going to be doing Christmas runs from December twenty-fourth well into the first week of January! It certainly explained how North could get all the presents delivered, since it wasn't all in a single night like the Easter Bunny and his eggs, but still.

It was a good thing the Yeti had already warned him, so he'd been able to handle the 'pre-Christmas presents', like the tidbits he'd left out for Slovakian children earlier in the week. December had already begun and he was handing out presents! In shoes, of all things!

At least he hadn't had to take the sleigh _then_. Just stalking the streets followed by a couple yeti armed with bags of treats and small toys had been more than enough.

_"And,"_ he said in a mental aside to Silver, _"walking through all those doors was_ weird _."_

The wolf only shuddered in agreement.

Larisa huffed, and looked over at Phil. "Can one of the yeti drive the sleigh?" she asked, the first sensible thing he'd heard her say all through the conversation.

Phil nodded, and garbled something while gesturing to himself.

"What," Jack said, and shook his head. "Oh no! No, you hate me!"

The yeti sneered at him, and said something else. After a confused minute, Jack looked over at Larisa and tilted his head.

"Phil is one of the only yeti capable of handling the reindeer," Larisa translated. "And the other yeti do not know how to drive, only care for them."

"Great," Jack muttered. "Christmas is going to amateur hour. This is going to end _wonderfully_ , isn't it?"

* * *

Jack did not look right in red.

Aster hissed at Jack's hand, and backed further under the bed. His tail brushed the wall; there was nowhere else he could go, but at least he was out of reach.

At least until Jack used some of that werewolf strength of his and lifted the bed.

Aster frowned at Jack's grinning face. That was _cheating_.

"If I have to wear this stupid outfit," Jack growled. "So do you. Now come here - argh!"

Aster squeezed under the wardrobe, and looked back at the chaos behind him. Jack had tried to grab the Pooka, and learnt two very important things. First, that no one smart ever raced a rabbit, and second, that beds did not float in the air. He looked rather squished.

_Aster_ felt rather squished. He must have grown a bit bigger - not nearly big enough, mind, but a bit - because there wasn't as much space under the wardrobe anymore.

He watched Jack wiggle back out from under the bed, his red jacket rumpled. The elves kept things too clean for there to be dust, unfortunately. Gray would have been better than that particular shade. Jack looked like a very skinny tomato. A _sick_ tomato.

A sick, yet determined tomato, Aster realized. The werewolf glared down at his hiding place with crimson eyes, and a wide grin. Or at least visible teeth.

Right. The door to the hallway was closed, blast the arse, as was the door to the bathroom. Jack had correctly predicted Aster's reaction to the outfit the elves had whipped up. But not the Pooka's determination to avoid it at all costs. He only needed a little longer; already Jack was going to be pressed for time. Another five minutes and no one would let him waste any more trying to catch a rabbit, not when he had to get out and deliver presents. There was only a short window when the magic would work, ensuring parents remembered buying the toys Santa left for the children.

Aster could hear the yeti pacing outside the door. In fact - he glanced over when it began to crack open, and started scrambling towards it. If he could just get out from under the wardrobe, he could -

\- get caught, apparently. He shrilled and kicked, but Jack didn't let go of his scruff.

"C'mon, helper-rabbit," Jack growled. "Time to wear the nice outfit the damned monsters made for you. And hey, it matches mine!"

Damned werewolf. No matter how hard Aster struggled, he ended up in the little velvet jacket, the same shade as Jack's, and trimmed in white lace. A hat, with holes for his ears, was plopped on his head. And then he was tucked into the little carry-bag the elves had put in Jack's outfit, up high on his chest so Aster could peer out at the world.

Damn them. It wasn't a bad view, either, or a bad spot to curl up in. Not big enough for him to hide his entire body in, so the whole world - or the yeti and elves crowding the hallway - got a good look at him.

He glared, but didn't bother making a run for it. It was too late, after all. The damage had been done and the _outfit_ was being worn.

At least no one laughed.

* * *

Phil had made up for the delay by driving like a madman. Jack had discovered, to his horror, that there were no seatbelts. Just two wooden benches, one up front and one in the back for the bags of toys. Normally, he'd have flown beside the sleigh, where it was safe and he had control, but... no. He needed to be Santa.

Which meant riding in the sleigh.

Loop-de-loops were _entirely different_ when they were his decision!

For one thing, when they were his decision, it didn't feel like his dinner was going to come back up.

Once they'd gotten out over the UK, however, Phil had steadied out, and then the work had begun.

Jack dug his nails into the bench as they came in for another landing. There was an odd timelessness to the night. No matter how many roofs they landed on, it felt like the first one. The moon hung overhead, just close enough to full to make him wary, not enough to make his bones ache. The stars never seemed to change their position. Jack had exercised as much influence over the weather as he could, so it snowed, the flakes falling slowly from the scattered clouds. The children would wake to a white Christmas. It wasn't as much as over in North America, or further south in Germany - which would ironically be part of the cap to the night - or France, but it'd be enough to bring a smile to their faces.

Jack lifted the small bag that always had the right toys, once he got inside, and moved towards the chimney. How North ever fit in one of these things would have to be a mystery for the ages. Jack couldn't help but be surprised, again, when he somehow managed it himself.

It didn't even make him feel claustrophobic.

He checked on Joey once they were out of the fireplace, but the little rabbit was still sulking. Jack grinned, and moved over to the Christmas tree.

There were already a handful of brightly coloured packages; the ones he added were like the whipped cream on top of the ice cream. There had been other houses he'd stopped at, where there were fewer presents to add to, even houses where there weren't any presents, or a tree. All the children had gotten something, though, he'd made sure of it, even if it was just a chocolate bar tucked under a pillow or a new pair of shoes, without holes, beside the bed.

Every child, big and little, deserved to get something. Naughty, nice, and all between.

It made him melancholy, though, to contrast this house, and every other nice Christmas tree, with the less fortunate ones.

Still. He was doing something; for once in his life it actually felt like he was doing _something_.

He collected the cookies on his way back to the chimney.

* * *

Aster's stomach lurched as the sleigh began to descend again. He'd lost count of the number of times they'd lifted up and then gone right back down again, and it had yet to get any easier. If this was North's usual Christmas run, well... suddenly he was feeling a bit more sympathy to the old codger. Christmas was no Easter, but the main night of the twenty-fifth was certainly busy enough.

Maybe, just maybe, he'd give North some leniency when they had their arguments again. Soften the idiot up before smacking him with the facts. After all, he didn't get some 'magic hour' where, so long as he kept moving, he never ran out of time. Oh no, he had to race dawn across the world, and a single delay could put him behind. And that would never do. There was letting the kiddies get a quick glimpse of gray fur, and letting the kiddies watch him usher the eggs to their hiding place.

He peeked out when the sleigh runners clattered against pavement, not shingles. What - why were they on the street? And why was Jack going to the alley... oh. Jack's condition for playing Santa.

The vent over the subway steamed, the air lukewarm but more than enough to keep the seven-odd figures warm as they slept. They must not have been able to get space in a shelter for the night, Aster thought, either not enough room or... well, he didn't think shelters cost money anymore, but what did he know about it? And there was always the possibility that these seven were one of the mentally ill, thrown out on the streets after the care center they'd been living in closed. Apparently there'd been a lot of that lately, if Jack's yelling meant anything.

"Just because they're past puberty, is that any reason to deny them hope?" Jack had screamed, his cheeks a pale pink and his eyes a brilliant blue. Aster was pretty sure that was the line that broke all resistance to the werewolf's plan.

And it was a sobering reminder to Aster, too, that it wasn't only Easter that inspired hope in people.

One of the homeless folk, no doubt keeping watch so as to wake up her fellows if it got too cold, flinched away when she caught sight of Jack. More of the Christmas magic, Aster supposed. There wasn't any other reason why these people could see the werewolf.

The first time an elderly man had spoken to Jack, the werewolf had been unable to do anything but stutter and shove a new hat and gloves at the man, and then flee.

He'd gotten better. This time, he smiled at the woman - she wasn't young, but she didn't seem elderly either - and nodded. "Hey, there," he said, and all of a sudden Aster just felt... calm. He hadn't been worried before, but now he was content to just relax against Jack's chest.

He was too calm, in fact, to worry about how calm he suddenly was.

The effect on the homeless woman was stronger than on Aster. She smiled back at Jack, as if he was an old friend she had only just been thinking about.

"Hello," she said. "Let me just wake the others."

"Alright," Jack said, still radiating that peace. "I've got presents for them too."

The woman didn't have much trouble waking her fellows; under the grime, they seemed to range from late adolescence to early middle-age. The eldest woman was Caucasian, while the rest of them ranged in shades of light to dark brown.

The youngest of the group rubbed at his eyes, but all of them looked, if not happy to be awake, at least pleased to be talking to Jack, even at an inconvenient hour.

"I just thought, well, I hope it's not presumptuous of me, but with it being Christmas and all..." Jack reached down and began rummaging through his bag. He pulled out seven packages, wrapped not in paper but in bright, woollen scarves. The seven homeless folk immediately unwrapped the packages and put on the scarves, and then proceeded to marvel over the gifts. Warm hats, gloves, and thick socks, which quickly followed the scarves. Jack topped the gifts with seven sandwiches of the latest fad, foot-long loaves of bread cut in half, then filled with meats and vegetables.

"Thank you," the eldest, and darkest skinned male, said. His voice... Aster shivered, and wished the man's voice was a physical thing he could curl up in. It was deep and rich, and listening to him talk was like stretching out next to a warm fire after romping in the snow. Listening was pure comfort.

Jack was startled into a laugh. "No, no, this is... what's supposed to happen, yeah? Goodwill to fellow man and all that."

"Bless you," the eldest of the women said. She looked a lot like the eldest of the men. Sister, maybe; she wasn't old enough to be his mother. "It's been a hard winter, since... well."

"Since?" Jack asked, crouching down where he was. "Since what?"

While the rest of the group had started picking at their meals, the eldest of the men refrained. Instead, he sighed, and shook his head. "Since I'd lost my job," he admitted. "Which was followed by us being thrown out of our apartment, once the rent came due and there wasn't enough money... What you've done for us might not be much by your standards, but for us of late, it's quite a bit. Thank you."

Jack tilted his head, and then held his hand out. "I've been where you are now," he said quietly. "Let me assure you, this too shall pass. And," he added, a spark of mischief making his eyes glow in the moonlight. "With that voice of yours, I have every confidence you'll get a new job in no time. I could listen to you read the phone book and enjoy it, so I can't see you failing an interview!"

That got a laugh, and Jack left the small group - a family, Aster realized, husband and wife, children and aunt, maybe an uncle - to their meal. There were more presents to deliver, both for children and for those unfortunate enough to be out on the streets.

He had to wonder, though, as Jack climbed back up into the sleigh. On Christmas night Santa could speak to every child as though a native, but the same magic didn't extend to adults. Jack had stammered and fumbled his way through Spanish, spoken with an atrocious accent in French, but now...

Now, he'd spoken perfect German, his accent only a little dated.

* * *

"Are you Santa?"

Jack froze, and then turned to look at the small child. Children, he realized; one girl, about nine or ten, holding the hand of a little boy who looked around five or six. They were dressed in pyjamas, the girl's covered in stars and moons, the boy's in puppies and balls. They looked adorable... and the girl had just spoken to him.

"You can't be Santa," she announced, though quietly. Apparently, confrontation aside, she didn't want to wake her parents. "You're not fat."

Jack felt Joey shake with laughter against his chest. "Well," he said, a little confused when the English word he thought turned into... well, not an English word on his tongue. Whatever. As long as it was the right word, did it really matter? "No, I'm not Santa. I'm, uh, I'm his nephew. Jack Frost. No- Uncle Nick, he kinda broke his leg right before Christmas."

The two kids gasped. "His leg?" the boy asked. "But - but -"

"Hey, hey, no, it's okay." Jack patted the air. "He's gonna be okay. And, you know, he would've delivered the presents anyways, but I got my aunt to put her foot down. Besides, it's my turn to have a little fun, yeah?"

Wow, look at that, the sniffling stopped, like magic. Instead, the little girl let go of her brother's hand and marched over to him.

"What's in your jacket?" she asked.

Oh, well, couldn't hurt... Jack reached in and caught Joey around the chest, and lifted him out. "This is my friend, Joey," he said. "He's helping me out."

"Ooooh." The two kids immediately started stroking the rabbit's ears. Joey began humming in approval. "He's so soft!"

"Is he the Easter Bunny?" The boy looked up at Jack. "There weren't any eggs..."

"There will be this year," Jack promised. "And no, Joey's not the Easter Bunny. He's the Easter Bunny's son. There were... well, there were bad guys, on Easter."

Small children were devious and a billion times smarter than adults gave them credit for being. Jack found himself telling the two kids most of what he knew, going so far as to admit the Boogieman was real, and Santa, the Tooth Fairy, the Sandman, and the Easter Bunny protected the children from him.

"He was causing trouble, that's why the Easter Bunny couldn't put the eggs out last Easter," Jack admitted. He was sweating, actually _sweating_ , from the interrogation. At least he'd managed to keep the worst of the details from the kids, like what he suspected had happened to three of the Guardians, or how Sandy had been temporarily dead for a while there. They didn't need to know about that.

The young boy considered that. "But he's gonna put out the eggs this time?"

"Extra eggs, for missing last year." How hard could it be?

... On second thought, commandeer as many yeti and elves as he could get and press gang them into helping.

The girl had another question. "The Sandman's not really real, is he?"

"Are you kidding me?" Jack tucked Joey back into his jacket. "Not only is he real, he's one of the funnest guys I know!"

"Funnest isn't a word."

"Maybe not, but I like saying it." Jack grinned, and tilted his head towards the hallway and, presumably, their beds. "How about I tell you about him, and show you some of his special sand, while I tuck you into bed? You've got a ways yet before dawn."

"But I'm not, ah, not tired." The little girl promptly yawned, and then glared, as if Jack were responsible for her exhaustion.

"Sure you're not, but won't it be nicer to snuggle under your warm blankets? Your feet have got to be cold." Bare feet, no less, and this was... where was he again? Somewhere in Russia, but _where_? Never mind, he wasn't driving anyways.

"Okay," the boy agreed, and tugged on his sister's hand until she nodded. They ended up in what Jack presumed was the girl's room. He tucked them both into the same bed. He'd slept just about every night of his sister's life in the same bed, and he honestly had no idea why people were so insistent on separate beds now.

Once they were cuddled up under the blankets, he pulled out the bag he kept a few handfuls of dreamsand in. "Here you go," he said, and spilled a little bit out onto his palm. "Dreamsand. A pinch of this stuff in your eyes, and you get good dreams all night long."

"Does he make the dreams?" the girl asked, her eyes wide at the faint, golden glow.

"Sorta. It all comes from your imagination." Jack tapped her on the forehead; she giggled. "But he keeps track of what kind of dreams you like, and if you had a bad day, or if you watched a scary movie, he can give you a little nudge through the sand, so you dream about your favourite things instead."

The boy yawned, and nuzzled into the pillow. "I like dogs," he mumbled.

"Then the Sandman makes sure you dream about dogs," Jack promised him, and sprinkled a pinch of the sand over the boy's eyes.

The girl said something, but it was slurred by sleep and her brother's hair, so he couldn't make it out. No matter; another pinch of dreamsand, and she was out like a light. Dogs gambled over the boy's head, and - oh, that's probably what she said - figure skaters twirled and leaped over hers.

Jack eased his way over to the window, and gave it a light tap. Frost curled and twined over the window panes, on the outside where it wouldn't make a mess when it melted.

On the outside, where frost belonged.

Jack sighed, and headed back for the living room, and from there the fireplace. Tonight was amazing. He could talk to people, be seen and heard. For the first time in centuries he could interact with children, something he hadn't realized he'd missed so much.

But it was all a lie. It was only the Christmas magic that made it possible, only filling in for Santa Claus.

By the New Year it'd all be over, and he'd just be Jack Frost again. Invisible, inaudible, and banished outside.

Where he belonged.

Jack lifted his chin and squared his shoulders. Enough of that. He had work to do; there was still Australia and New Zealand to deliver to, before the night ended. And after that, other Midwinter traditions to add a bit of Christmas magic to. Time to get to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Slovakia: St. Nicholas' day is on the 6th of December. Children leave their shoes by the door on the eve of December 5th, and sv. Mikulas (St. Nicholas, I'd assume) leaves presents for good children. The actual Christmas gifts are brought by Baby Jesus, per the websites where I did my research.
> 
> The International Date Line is right down the North Pacific ocean, between the Eastern-most tip of Russia and the Western-most tip of North America. Therefore, Russia and Australia and New Zealand are all on one side of this date line. The Christmas Run (and Easter Run) would therefore start in Alaska and go east, across North and South America, through Eurasia and Russia and Africa and all that, ending in... well, can't tell if anyone lives around the sea of Okhotsk in Russia, but they sure do live in New Zealand, so that's where it ends! Makes it easier for Bunny after Easter, he can just stagger home.
> 
> North has portals, feel no pity for him.
> 
> Also! Omega werewolves, per Patricia Briggs' universe, have the ability to, well, basically calm everyone around them. I'm sure that in this universe, Jack's happy flakes are a side effect of this ability; also in this universe he doesn't normally put forth the effort to calm people. Heck, he doesn't even know he has this ability! Don't know about it? Can't direct it. Heh.


	20. Chapter 20

Jack stepped forward to greet the six children, only to falter as the first two trotted right through him. His vicious curse went unheard by the humans, as did the dull thumping sound when he punched the mailbox beside him.

"Well," he said, forcing himself to use polite English instead of screaming in rage. "That didn't work. Glad I put you down there, Joey, you don't need to feel people walking through you..."

He picked up the little rabbit, and hopped up into the air, coming to rest on a streetlight. He crouched there, doing his best not to brood, and managing to keep it to a dull sulk. The way Joey kept nuzzling at his chin and snuffling at his neck helped, though the ache in his bones - almost as bad as after a full moon - wasn't going away any time soon.

"I'm alright," he muttered, and snuffled at soft fur. Joey smelt like some kind of flower, though Jack would be hanged if he knew what the flower was called. The little rabbit smelt like clean fur, a bit like dust, a lot like Jack, and he'd come to find nothing, but nothing, calmed his wolf faster than Joey's scent.

He really, really hoped that Bunny understood and let Jack spend as much time with Joey as possible. Maybe if he put it in terms, like, Jack was the duckling and Joey the mother duck...

Which was kind of really backwards, and yet.

With luck, and oh did he need luck, that hope would turn out better than, well...

Jack sighed, and retreated to the back of his mind. He was aware of Silver coming forward and taking control of their body. He was equally aware that Silver seemed to feel Joey needed a bath, and the soft glide of fur against their tongue, and a struggling body in his hands. Silver was crooning, his quiet joy in the act a bulwark against Jack's own, darker emotions.

He'd thought, after Christmas - he'd talked to people, to children! And they'd seen him! But, after... well.

Once the Christmas magic had run out, there wasn't anything left over for him.

He sighed, Silver pausing in giving Joey a bath to listen.

_"I don't think I like Christmas anymore..."_

_"Did we ever?"_ Silver wondered. Jack pushed memories of giving his family gifts he'd spent many a long month making, of Grace's cooking, of going to Church and feeling the Father's words bind him into a collective, one of many, giving him a place and a people. Christmas night, snuggling down into bed with his sister, warm and cozy under the blankets and the furs. And morning, boxing day, when - since they had no one poorer to distribute goods to, and no one richer to gift them with old, worn out clothes - the neighbours all traded gifts.

_"Well,"_ the wolf allowed. _"Yes. Then."_

Jack sighed again, and curled up in the back of their mind. Silver went back to bathing Joey. Jack kept enough awareness outside, enough to snicker when the rabbit squawked and began trying to kick when Silver started licking at his stomach and lower.

Joey must have been ticklish.

Jack let Silver have his fun until the sky began to darken overhead, the clouds in the west turning into a riot of gold and red. There'd be snow in the night; old shepherd instinct told him so, even as his magic reached to the clouds and felt the promise there, too. He shifted, Silver retreating and yielding control again.

He went to launch himself into the air and... paused. Reached up, and started scraping hairs off his tongue.

_"You couldn't have taken a second to do this?"_

He felt Silver turn away, nose in the air. _"It doesn't bother me."_

_"Dumbass..."_

* * *

One day, Aster figured he'd wake up and realize flying with Jack was still, in the end, flying. And thus, terrifying. That day did not seem to be today, though, so once they'd arrived at the Workshop, it was excitement, not fear, that had him trembling on Jack's shoulder.

Something about the werewolf let his usual fear vanish. He hadn't felt such enjoyment since... since he'd been first learning how to fly a Desert Hawk. But that'd been out in space, where there was no such thing as falling - well, _technically_ no such thing as falling, and usually no gravity to worry about, so - and he'd been young and stupid back then. Now he was old and knew better, and it was still impossible not to wish Jack would do loops while flying.

The werewolf reached up and stroked his fingers along Aster's side. The Pooka leaned into the contact, before resettling into a more comfortable position.

The Workshop was the quietest it ever got, the yeti taking well-earned time off to recover from the rush up to the holiday. He envied them their rest, among so many other things. While they had to make a lot of presents for children, and more this year than any before, there were still plenty of yeti to do the work. Aster had to prepare more eggs per children than they did presents, and there was only one of him. Sure, he had his egg golems to help, and he'd added a bit of an industrial work line flavour to the preparation process, but still.

North didn't even do any of the work! The stories got that part right, at least; Santa wasn't the one cutting the puzzle pieces and painting the toys, it was the elves, the yeti. All North had to do was manage, which just about anyone could do if they had a lick of sense and basic people skills. Yet everyone figured North had the harder job. It wasn't...

Aster sighed, and cuddled into Jack's neck. It wasn't fair. And it didn't help that he was starting to feel antsy. He was supposed to be working in his egg fields by now, making sure everything was planted just so. Instead, he was ten pounds of fluff, mute, and relying on a werewolf-winter spirit to do his job.

Did Jack even know _how_ to garden?

He looked up, a little surprised at how quickly and quietly Jack had moved, taking them through the workshop floor to the living quarters.

"Hey, Larisa!" Jack dropped down into a chair near the human, helping Aster shift from shoulder to lap. "Miss me?"

"Not especially." The woman put her reading down, and eyed Jack in a considering manner. Aster reminded himself not to bristle, and especially not to start chewing on ankles. Besides, Larisa was gone over North, though only the fates knew why. It wasn't like he was much of a catch.

"According to the yeti, there have been a grand total of five nightmares this past week. Over the entire planet."

_Really_ now. Interesting. Aster supposed the general feeling of good will from Christmas, and Jack's efforts, had dropped fear to a new low. Even the war-torn areas of the world, and places under the yokes of dictatorships, seemed to be in a more cheerful frame of mind. Fortunately, Christmas Magic hadn't lent itself to violence, or those ice daggers would've caused a problem. _Someone_ would have been blamed, and it was always the innocent that suffered when that sort of thing happened...

Jack might have been disappointed he wasn't able or allowed to maul anyone, but he wasn't supposed to be getting vengeance during the Christmas run.

And he'd just thought about that fondly. Aster sighed, and relaxed into Jack's gentle petting. Ah, well, Jack had his heart in the right place.

He just wanted to put other peoples' hearts in the _wrong_ places, is all. Like outside the body.

"I didn't kill him," Jack said. "More's the pity. But he must be starving, and with the yeti all armed with sand, the nightmares must be taken out faster than they can reproduce. About time we started seeing results from that."

Larisa nodded. "I suppose you would know about overhunting, and intimately."

Aster looked up at Jack. The werewolf seemed confused, his eyebrows furrowed, and mouth twisted up to the side. "You... you do know that I'm not _that_ old, right? I never hunted mammoths."

The woman frowned at Jack, and then shrugged. "What is the next step? Setting out for Pitch's lair, rescuing the other Guardians once and for all?"

Jack drummed his fingers against Aster's side. It wasn't an unpleasant sensation, just strange. Aster moved away from it, half-climbing Jack's front before the werewolf noticed. He immediately murmured an apology and went back to stroking Aster's fur, turning his attention back to Larisa.

"Remind me, when exactly did children lose belief?"

"Easter."

Aster shivered. All the eggs had been shattered in the tunnels. Stupid him, he'd figured they'd be safe there, but... no. His Warren had been sealed against dark magic, particularly Pitch's shadows, but the tunnels were meant to be traveled through. No matter how many layers of protection he put on them, no matter that they were supposed to be keyed to him and his eggs alone...

Pitch had shattered those protections, just before shattering the eggs.

Jack nodded, and cuddled Aster close. "Whatever Pitch did, I think it's tied to Easter. Christmas helped, it helped a lot, but the kids can explain away the nightmares and the lack of quarters. Christmas wasn't missed. So the closer it gets to Easter, well..." He shrugged. "They're going to be worrying about it. And that'll strengthen Pitch back up. A successful Easter, though, might just free the Guardians without us having to go into his lair."

He paused, and then added, "And I might just find my way down there, to watch the show."

"Not join in?"

The werewolf rubbed at his shoulder. "I can do without any more daggers, thanks. But, well... Easter."

Larisa raised one eyebrow. "What about it?"

Jack said only one word. "Preparation."

Her lips pressed together. "A point. What about it, though?"

"What do you know about gardening?" Jack wondered.

"I wasn't part of the agricultural committee," Larisa said, her voice as dry as the proverbial bone. "You put seeds in the ground, the plants grow, you harvest them."

Aster winced. That was... not wrong, actually, but...

Jack cleared his throat. "Are there yeti who'd know, uh, more?"

"How else do we get food? Of course." Larisa studied the fireplace across the room. "I presume you want to borrow them?"

Aster felt Jack relax. "Yeah. And a whole lot of snow globes. I know Bunny can do this stuff in his sleep, but he's kinda missing, so." He looked down and tickled Aster under the chin. "Wanna help us do what your dad does?"

If he bit Jack's finger, Jack would stop with the tickling. But then Jack would stop with the tickling. Aster grunted, and frowned when Jack stopped anyways.

"I shall see what yeti are available," Larisa promised. "As well, the elves should be useful. It seems like it would be right up their alley."

"They can always do the weeding, I suppose," Jack said, hiding absolutely none of his doubt.

Aster nudged at Jack's hand, until the werewolf started tickling his chin again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick pause before the action in next chapter. Woohoo! Also, the aftermath of Christmas, for Jack.


	21. Chapter 21

He really should have thought about it before, Aster reflected, and not for the first time. The invasion of his Warren. Yeti trampling his grass, turning his perfect lawn into a trampled expanse of dead plants and clods of dirt. Elves, running everywhere, getting into everything, digging into his egg golems and the controls for the weather and light levels.

Jack, on his knees, hands buried up to the wrist in rich dirt, sweating lightly from the labour.

It was... quite a view. Especially from behind.

Aster whined, low in his throat and quiet enough even another Pooka would have had trouble hearing him, but Jack - oh, now, Jack. So many things to appreciate about his Jack, his sense of hearing the least of it. The werewolf turned his head, and grinned at Aster from over his shoulder.

"I know, Joey, I know," he said, and planted another bulb. It'd taken half a day to get the idiot yeti to find the storehouse where he kept the bulbs for the eggplants. They weren't... awake, was the best word for it, until about two months before Easter, whenever his poor holiday was scheduled each year. So it was easy enough, normally, to plant a few here and there, as the whim took him, after his holiday.

A few of them had started to sprout in the storehouse. They were cutting things close, this year, not that they'd had much choice in it.

He had to admit, the yeti at least had a good system for it. If he'd had twenty helpers, he'd probably have done the same. The bulbs were planted in rows, a few of the yeti preparing the soil, followed by the ones armed with baskets of bulbs and smocks to help shield their fur from the dirt.

Jack had mostly run damage control, herding the elves away from the more delicate machinery and spell-work, while at the same time Aster had done his best to get Jack to follow him to the various locations in the Warren.

The kitchens where he prepared his chocolates had been greeted with confusion, and then glee, and then a call for more yeti had been sent out. The paint river had confused him, since apparently it never occurred to him that the eggs would sprout with legs and be run through the river for their base colors. The paint vines were considered "some kind of exotic - you don't think it's poisonous, do you? No one eat these!"

Yet at the end of every workday, Jack liked to settle down and plant a few bulbs himself. With the yeti working, the fields were almost complete, and they'd only been at it for about a week. The yeti had worked long, hard days, and however annoyed he was at having them in his Warren, he had to admit... he was grateful.

Mostly, though, he was grateful for the chance to see his Jack get all dirty and sweaty. It was... nice, oh yes. Those long fingers pressing deep into the soil, the gentle care Jack had with each bulb as it was pressed into the hollow, the way he patted the dirt over the bulb like he was tucking it in... Oh, it made Aster shiver, made his belly tighten with a welter of emotions but mostly with physical want... And not for the first time since last Easter, he both thanked and cursed the fact that his miniature form was essentially sexless. It would've been nice to do _something_ about the desire coursing through his veins!

Aster grumbled under his breath, shoving back up onto his feet and pacing in a circle around Jack. The werewolf smiled, but ignored his antics.

Probably wouldn't have been so smug and happy if he'd known what was behind said antics, oh no. Aster growled, his fur puffing up. Silly little werewolf, his Jack. So innocent, for all the violence he could display. What would Jack do, if Aster were full-sized? Would he still think it cute? Would he lean into Aster? Or pull away?

Oh the things the Pooka wanted to do to his werewolf. He wanted to rub against Jack, the full length of his body, staining Jack with his scent. He wanted to stroke his hands down that lean back, up Jack's stomach and chest, and down those strong arms. Aster growled again, and eyed those broad shoulders, wrapped in thick, blue cotton. He'd tear that off, he decided; bare all that pale skin to the world. Lick and nibble his way up and down each bump in Jack's spine, until he could press his teeth to the back of Jack's neck and just hold him still, just from his mouth...

Aster snarled, and sank down onto his stomach, claws dug into the loose soil as if that alone could keep him from lunging at Jack.

Jack looked up, and smiled, the expression so bright and carefree Aster was shocked out of his frustration.

"Aw, Joey, c'mere baby." Jack held out his hands, and Aster bolted for them, pressing into them, heedless of the dirt rubbing into his fur. Jack had wonderful hands, he did, long fingers and broad palms. The things Aster wanted to do to those hands... Oh, yes, so many things, so many wonderful, wicked things.

At the moment, though, all he really wanted was to press his face into Jack's palm and breathe in the scent of rich earth and musky werewolf.

"Poor little guy," Jack murmured, and lifted Aster to his chest. He cuddled the Pooka for a minute, before nuzzling at Aster's ears. "Feeling lonely? I'm sorry I've been ignoring you, but we really do need to get the work done. We'll cuddle after I finish this basket, how about it?"

Aster sighed, and nuzzled the base of Jack's neck. Cuddling would help a little; Pooka, however advanced they'd gotten or intelligent they'd been, had still been led by their instincts more often than not. Hopefully, appeasing the instincts that demanded he claim Jack, mark him with scent and touch, would help with the other instincts. The ones demanding sex, and if not sex, violence.

And now he understood just why male animals calmed down so much after having their balls chopped off! Denying them of sex was frustrating, painfully so, and right now he just wanted to _bite_ something. Of course, his problem was the opposite... if he'd still had his bits, at least he'd have been able to masturbate or something, but...

Not the point.

He sighed again when Jack put him down, and went back to the gardening. Right then. Watching Jack, as lovely as it was, only riled him up. Better look elsewhere for a distraction, then. It wasn't like watching the yeti work was interesting...

Well, maybe he could look over the other gardens, they were near enough to them at the moment. The plot for his personal food was a mess. Some of them were doing alright, though ranging a bit from their allotted spaces, though others... he'd have to replant at least half the garden, though considering it was the seasonal stuff that never re-grew no matter how much tinkering he did with the base genetics, that was hardly surprising.

The tomatoes were looking better than when he'd last seen them... the cabbages were a complete loss, no surprise there, they didn't like the soil or something. The chick-weed was... taking over everything, oh dear...

The Cimneh bushes needed pruning, and the ground was littered with flower petals. Aster frowned at the waste. If they'd gone to the Warren before Christmas, Aster could have gathered the flowers before they became useless, then had Jack put them out in the drying racks. As it was, that was a whole year's supply of tea mouldering on the ground there...

Wait. His tea. And his recent... frustrations.

Oh dear.

* * *

Aster couldn't settle. He'd held still for cuddling with Jack, until the werewolf dropped off to sleep, but then started pacing. It felt like he was about to vibrate out of his skin, or maybe just scratch it off. The sudden realization was just too much - too uncomfortable, too unexpected, too much of an unknown looming before him.

He'd _never_ been off the Cimneh tea in his entire _life_. Not since maturity, at least; one cup a day, to keep things stable. And a gentle easing off the tea if in the event he ever partnered up with anyone and wanted kits.

He hissed under his breath. He hadn't been eased off, he'd gone cold turkey. Did that have something to do with how he'd turned into a miniature of himself? Or was that entirely due to belief? He'd have thought he'd have a bad reaction to going without, but he hadn't even noticed. Though lately he'd been feeling quite... randy. Like a walking hard-on without the body part.

What was going to happen? Even if he was restored to his proper shape tomorrow, he'd still have to be off the tea for at least a year. Maybe longer, depending on how long it took for his hormones to stabilize. Last year's prepared tea would be useless, now, and the Cimneh bushes only bloomed once a year. He wouldn't have anything until this time next year, at least.

He'd never... never really wanted to be off the tea before. He'd seen other Pooka, year-mates usually, during their seasons. Oh, they were still intelligent, thinking creatures, for all that they were undergoing 'heats'... but they'd struck him as just this side of intoxicated, easily distractible and all too interested in the dubious pleasures of the flesh. The fact that the Pookan season was when they were at their most fertile, well...

Aster liked children. But back then, during the academy and his first two tours in the army? There was no censure for a Pooka that had kits outside of a formal pairing, during their schooling or service in the army, but it'd seemed highly irresponsible to him. The kits born during those times could never be first in their parents' attentions, and conceiving outside of a love-pairing just... No.

He didn't want children just to have children. For that matter, he wasn't sure he wanted children, at all! You couldn't pick up and hand your own child off when they got annoying, the way you could with nibblings, or the children he encountered as a Guardian.

So, with children off the table, what point was there in enduring a season? A Pooka still wanted and enjoyed sex outside of their season, they just weren't going to get pregnant from it. Heightened fertility was wasted on him. Only reasonable to have the tea.

Now, though... well, look at his reactions to Jack earlier! If he'd been his proper shape, he'd have been doing everything he could to get Jack's pants off, and any kind of preventative towards having kits wouldn't have even been an _afterthought_.

And this was just during an abbreviated season, with his body weakened, his system adjusting to the changing hormone levels. What about next season? Was he going to become obsessed with sex, with the idea of kits? Was he going to go out of control, and just take what he wanted from Jack, with no regard for the werewolf's own opinions and desires?

No. Aster shuddered at the thought. He'd rather have North lock him up than do anything like _that_. Twenty-four-seven Christmas music, the sappiest, most nonsensical ballads ever produced, that was better than... well. Than bowling Jack over and having his way with him.

He could always luck out, he supposed. His dam had never been on the tea, after all, and you could hardly tell when they were in the middle of another season. Really, the only sure way to tell had been the almost inevitable pregnancy. His dam and sire had quite liked children, the younger the better.

The problem was, he had no idea what to expect. Sure, watching his year-mates when they'd gone off their tea - if they'd ever started taking it in the first place - told him some things, but... when it was all said and done, they'd been, well... youngsters. "Teenagers", to use a human term. Teenagers, growing up in a culture that accepted sex as normal, casual sex as normal, sex with friends and strangers equally normal, pregnancy outside of pair-bonds normal...

Unlike humans, Pooka had never had to deal with sexually transmitted diseases, unless one considered pregnancy a form of disease. There hadn't been any health reasons to restrict sex. And when no one cared who was the result of a casual night during a season, or the result of a pair-bond, there were no taboos on the parents - or more specifically, the dams - to remain 'pure' for their pair-bond. As long as there was nothing incestuous, everything involved was consented to with full knowledge of exactly _what_ was being asked and done, and everyone was of a proper age for it...

Well, without the sexual taboos humans had, adolescent Pooka had enjoyed sex. A lot of it. And just because one was fertile while off the tea, that didn't mean pregnancies were guaranteed. Only a third of the population, the dams, could even have seasons; the sires and the last third of the populations, the Pooka that weren't fertile at all, didn't have those hormone changes that came with the fertility.

So what he'd seen, mostly, were adolescents just starting to learn about their bodies, about sex, and using every excuse they could to get out of their school work!

And by the time Aster and his year-mates were adults and presumably knew better... there'd been a war on.

He sighed, and shook his head. Dwelling on the matter had hardly calmed him down, though at least it hadn't made him feel any worse. It had given him time to come to a few conclusions, starting with the fact that he - and every Pooka that had come before him - was an intelligent, thinking being and not about to be ruled by his nether regions, thank you very much! If he so much as suspected he'd try overpowering Jack just because of his season, North would just have to lock him up until his hormones settled back down again!

Having a decision made him feel better, in a way contemplating his old peer-mates' antics hadn't. Juniper's romp through the first year cadets, his own fumbling trials with... Well, he couldn't remember their names, he'd deliberately gone to year-mates he hadn't really known to try out sex. In retrospect, he probably should've done that with a friend, Juniper had been more than willing, it probably would have been more enjoyable...

Aster chuckled to himself, even as he turned around to go back to Jack. If his current obsession meant anything, once he and Jack paired up, things would be _mind blowing_.

If they paired up. There was no reason they wouldn't. Jack was... Jack was Jack, and Aster would not be satisfied with anyone else, or with being on his own, anymore. And Jack had admitted he felt... fondly... for Aster - though for Aster as an adult, at least when it came to sexual thoughts.

He shook his head. He really needed to get his proper form back - and not just so he could work at courting Jack. Now he was just starting to get confused about which self Jack was talking about, and having to clarify in his own thoughts whether he meant his proper shape or this tiny one!

Jack screamed.

Aster was moving before the sound cut off, with a rather disturbing grunt.

Oh, and spray of blood.

He skittered around the mess and over to Jack's head. The werewolf was - convulsing wasn't the right word, but it was the only one that fit. He was shifting, bits and pieces, but it wasn't a full moon -

Aster winced, and looked skyward. Not an American full moon, but Australian? Where they were? Yes it was. And apparently being out of the moonlight wasn't stopping the transformation, not that it ever had before.

Jack twisted, and spat something out onto the grass. A bit of meat and a lot of blood. Where had the meat come from... oh.

Aster whined, and lifted one hand, but then pulled back. Jack was in enough pain, he didn't need Aster patting at him while his skull was reshaping and oh that was disturbing to watch.

He shivered, and looked away. Every so often he glanced down, and caught sight of dull red eyes staring at him, but other than that he did his best to stare at his vegetable garden, or the few flowering bushes that hadn't been taken over by ivy, or glare at the odd yeti wandering by to see what was up.

Fortunately most of the yeti knew better than to come near Jack at this time; in pain or not, halfway through transforming or not, Jack was liable to kill when he was like this. The elves had never needed to be warned, so at least Aster didn't have to worry about them.

At some point, he must have drifted off. Jack, after that first scream, hadn't made any further noise, so there had been nothing to disturb Aster's rest. Not until a hand, shaky and wet with fresh blood, pressed against his back.

He looked up, and smiled. Jack, looking much worse for wear, smiled back. Aster ignored the missing chunk of tongue. After all, Jack was a werewolf.

Tongues grew back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope, no one needs to worry about Bunny turning into a sex-crazed maniac this-time-next-year-in-fic. His only experiences is seeing his MOM and teenagers. In a culture that's a few steps short of bonobos, the lovely dwarf chimpanzees that believe sex solves everything. Poor Bunny; it doesn't help that he really, REALLY likes Jack and really, REALLY wants to make the werewolf scream. (Really, all the tea does is make sure no one's going to have babies if they don't want to... nothing at all for suppressing sexual desire...)


	22. Chapter 22

If his hair hadn't been naturally white, painting the eggs would have turned him gray.

The eggs had legs. _Legs_! Who had thought _that_ was a good idea? Not Jack! Bunny though, oh yes, Bunny was crazy enough to think walking eggs to be the most useful thing in the world.

And, ushering the little things through the portals to their destinations, he had to admit... yeah. Walking eggs were useful. If he'd had to hide each little thing by hand, even with help, it would never have been possible.

"I have no idea how Bunny does it." Jack shuddered, and held Joey closer. "I really don't. He's just _one guy_. We needed all the elves and another forty yeti, on top of the twenty. Numbers. Ow."

He _liked_ numbers. Numbers were simple, they didn't change halfway through an equation, and he could do tricky sums in his head. Except for right now, because exhaustion happened.

"Ow," he repeated, and rubbed his cheek against Joey's head. Poor little baby rabbit; Jack hadn't been nearly cuddly enough for Joey's needs. The baby had been upset over things, apparently. Jack could only assume it was being in the Warren without his father that had done it, because Joey had constantly nagged and begged for attention, when not sleeping in Jack's sweater.

Setting eggs out for the hunts was done, and Bunny had to be some kind of Superman to do it all, year after year. Unlike Christmas, where the exhaustion hadn't hit until after they were done, Jack had felt the hours slipping away. Oregon to Bolivia to... countries in Africa, he wasn't sure the names, was a little surprised they celebrated, but missionaries, so maybe...

He'd been to Italy and Austria and Finland, Russia and Myanmar and Australia, and all in between, places he'd never been before and might never visit again.

There had been no "Easter Magic", no unending hour enabling him to put the eggs out at an easy pace. Instead it had been a sprint from place to place, park to backyard to sneaking into hospitals and putting eggs out in easy-to-reach-from-a-wheelchair spots. Wolves were made for endurance, but even so; Silver slept in the back of Jack's mind, worn out and insensate. The human wasn't much better.

Every year. Bunny did this _every year_ , on his own. No wonder he'd always been so crabby, every time Jack had seen him. Exhaustion did strange things to emotional states.

"Your dad," he told Joey, slurring only a little. "Your dad is amazing. Just. Wow."

Joey snuffled at his chin, and grinned. Jack nuzzled his nose to Joey's, ready to roll over onto his back and start purring. Well, almost ready. There was one thing he wanted to do first.

He had a fondness for Burgess. It was the center of his territory, and his old village was buried under part of the suburbs. He'd watched his old village merge with the neighbouring village of Burgess, the combined settlement going by the bigger village's name. And if the year of some big snowstorm corresponded with one of the blank spots in his memory, where Silver had taken control and raged, well... He couldn't prove anything. Neither could anyone else. He'd watched gas come to Burgess, and then electricity. He'd watched the town's young men leave for war, more times than he cared to remember.

His sister and her husband had been grandparents to half their village when they'd passed away. Even now, Jack could probably claim most of Burgess as blood-kin, however distant.

So he liked to watch the egg hunts.

The fact that watching the egg hunts meant he normally had a good chance of running across Bunny didn't mean anything. There was no harm in watching. He kept his distance, Bunny never noticed him, everyone had a good time.

This year, he figured he wouldn't see Bunny... Well, probably not. He hadn't seen the Easter Bunny on his rounds, so... But you never knew...

He huffed, and found a good spot to observe an egg hunt.

Said spot was three-quarters of the way up a tree, but he could fly. He just made sure to cuddle Joey close, so the little rabbit didn't get nervous about the height.

Down below, the first of the egg hunters had arrived. The successful swapping of teeth, and the Christmas victory, meant there was a prize turnout this year.

* * *

Jamie grinned, and held up the first of what promised to be many Easter Eggs. "Told you they'd be here," he said, and put it in the basket. Cupcake had charge of it; it was a big basket, and she was taller and stronger than everyone else. And she'd volunteered.

"That way no one will steal our eggs, like..." She had looked down, before telling them about some bullies at her old school, who had shoved around all the other kids in the neighbourhood, stealing pocket money, candy, Easter Eggs, even beloved toys. They'd gotten in trouble, and Cupcake's parents had moved with her mom's work, but she was still pretty upset over the memory. Jamie couldn't blame her. Those bullies had sounded _mean_.

Now, they were all hunting eggs together. They'd split the booty later, after Easter Dinner at Pippa's house. Everyone's parents had said they could, even though only Pippa's family were Catholic. Pippa's mom and dad didn't mind, though; they just liked cooking a lot of good food. It didn't hurt anyone to wait while the adults said grace.

Jamie looked around the park, checking to see if there were any other children out yet. He didn't figure there would be; his neighbourhood didn't have a lot of kids, just a bunch of teenagers. Sometimes they came egg hunting, but mostly they didn't.

Like last year, it was just him and his friends. Unlike last year, he could see a couple brightly coloured eggs, not-quite-hidden. It was awesome! And this was their park, if only because no one else came here.

"Here's one!" Caleb crowed, holding up a green and blue egg. Immediately after, Claude lifted up another, red and gold and covered in purple paw-prints.

"Neat." Jamie moved to the next egg he could see, and looked up and around again. He paused, crouched over and holding the egg. That guy up in the tree...? Had he seen him before?

Jamie thought he had. The white hair was kind of obvious. A new guy to the neighbourhood, maybe, he thought, and went back to his egg hunting. If the guy was still there when they had found all the eggs, maybe he'd say hi.

With Cupcake for backup.

* * *

Jack rolled his shoulders, and flipped his staff up into his fingers. Time to go. He was all but asleep in the tree, and while he'd taken naps in odd places before, he didn't trust his balance this time around. There was just no way he'd nap, and if he wanted to crash and crash hard, well... solid ground.

He dropped down out of the tree, and ignored Joey's terrified squeak. Two-story drops were nothing to someone who could fly, and who knew how to fall. He landed, balanced and relaxed, and made hardly a sound.

He thought about going to his cave, but it'd been a year now. Even by his standards, it was probably unliveable. He had a snow globe left, so he'd be able to get to -

Hold on a moment...

Jack shifted Joey to his shoulder, and skulked forwards and to the side, the better to peer past several large bushes and see...

A nightmare.

A nightmare, that was glaring at the children laughing and collecting eggs. A healthy-looking nightmare, that was being ridden by a figure shrouded in black robes and black, hooded cloak.

Jack felt a wonderful mixture of dismay and anger. How dare Pitch show his face here? And why now, of all times? Jack was _tired_ \- and that was probably why. Pitch knew Jack would be covering Easter, the way he'd covered the Guardians' other duties. Pitch knew Jack would be tired, not his best.

And Pitch likely wanted revenge. Well... fine. He'd just have to be disappointed, then.

Jack reached into his pocket and fingered the slick globe. Then he reached up and lifted Joey down off his shoulder.

"Find a place to hide," he told the little rabbit. "I've got to deal with a vermin infestation."

* * *

Jamie frowned, and lifted his head. It'd been five minutes and they hadn't found any more eggs, so they'd started to go back to Pippa's house, but...

"Did you hear that?"

Monty was the only one who nodded. "Back there," he said, and pointed towards the far end of the park. Jamie chewed on his bottom lip. The guy up in the tree was gone, but he'd been over that way. And he'd been high up, too. What if he'd fallen and hurt himself?

Then he heard the noise again. It sounded like a shout. A pained one, kinda like the time his dad had broken his thumb with a hammer. "I saw a guy over there, earlier," he admitted. "He was in a tree. Maybe he fell out?"

Pippa folded her arms. "What if it's something else? Or someone trying to get you guys in trouble?"

"There's six of us," Cupcake pointed out. Caleb and Claude both nodded. "We don't have to get close. And if someone's in trouble, well... we should help."

Pippa nodded at that. "Alright. But we keep our distance until we know."

Jamie nodded. "I just want to make sure he didn't fall out of the tree and break something," he assured her.

Cupcake put the basket of their eggs under a bush as they passed by, and they moved to the bushes as a group. Jamie led; it was his idea, after all, to investigate. The bushes were tall and thick, and he couldn't see anything through the branches, not until he reached over and started shoving the prickly things aside.

There was... a man... maybe? More like a shadow of a man, tall and thin and dark, whirling around and striking at... at...

Then, like those pictures at the dentist, the cup that turned into two faces or the old lady who became a young one, the shadow became solid and real, and the gust of wind and snow became another man, a bright one.

He gasped, and pointed. The branches he'd been holding promptly sprang back into place, scratching up his arms. He didn't care. "Did you - do you see that? Them?"

Monty nodded, and started pushing through the bushes. "C'mon, he needs help."

Jamie hurried after. He could hear the others following, though when he looked back they seemed confused. "Can't you see them?" he asked, and gestured to the fight.

At just that moment, the large, dark-cloaked man picked the other guy up and threw him into a tree. Several branches snapped as the man fell to the ground, and if Cupcake hadn't grabbed him by the coat collar, Jamie would've run over then and there.

"... That's Jack Frost," Monty whispered. Jamie almost didn't hear him, but - he did. Jack Frost? He opened his mouth, to remind Monty that Jack Frost was just an expression, his mom said so, but then the white-haired guy swung a stick - no, a staff - and a swirling gust of air and ice smacked into the dark-cloaked guy.

Jack Frost. Yeah, that sounded about right...

But if that was Jack Frost, than who...?

"The Boogieman," Pippa whispered, and grabbed onto Claude's arm. Jamie swallowed. That made about as much sense as Jack Frost getting thrown into trees. Of course, if Jack Frost was real, and the Boogieman was real, then that meant...

It meant they _all_ were real. Good and bad, they were all _real_.

"Uh oh..."

The Boogieman began walking over to Jack Frost, the end of his cloak dragging against the ground. Jack managed to push himself up on his elbows, but then collapsed, wheezing in a bad way. He twisted to glare up at the Boogieman, and Jamie realized Jack was _bleeding_. The front of his blue sweater was turning dark red and wet, and he was in _trouble_ , they had to do _something_ -!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, what will happen to Jack now?
> 
> In other news, I have a new job, yay! I don't start it yet, but soon. Soon!


	23. Chapter 23

Aster huddled under a bush, shaking from more than just rage. Jack was... Well. Jack was losing, no two ways about it. He'd started with a handicap, tired and weak, and Pitch had only capitalized on the imbalance between them. The Nightmare King seemed perfectly rested. And far stronger than he should have been.

Aster... Easter was doing its magic, he could feel each renewed believer like drops of water into a bucket. Ten or eleven was hardly anything, a thousand or eleven hundred was a healthy amount. He was into the tens of thousands now, and building, but it wasn't... it just wasn't enough.

Not yet.

He could _feel_ the belief, the renewed hope, kicking his system into high gear. The last, lingering damage to his throat was gone, but what good would it do? _Talking_ wasn't going to stop Pitch.

Just a little longer. The tipping point would be hit soon. Another couple thousand and he'd be full-sized again. Maybe not at full strength, but technique would make up for that. Hopefully.

"Hold on, Jack," he murmured, and then gasped. Pitch threw Jack into a tree, and Aster could hear Jack's ribs snap like dry celery, mixed in with the snapping tree branches. The werewolf hit the ground. He tried to push himself up, but couldn't.

He _couldn't_.

"Jack," Aster breathed. Somehow, the werewolf heard him. Aster couldn't even hear himself, but Jack heard him.

Jack's eyes were blue, and they were... he didn't know. Desperate. Sad. Accepting. Jack wasn't _afraid_ , but... he wasn't fighting, he was only delaying. To give Aster time to run, to use the snow globe and bring back help...

But by then, it would be too late. And Jack knew it. Either Pitch would kill him outright, or he'd take Jack back to his lair and -

No!

Aster growled. "I'm not leaving," he murmured, and grinned when Jack's eyes widened. Oh yeah, Jackie, he could talk again. "Just another minute. Two. Just hold on."

Pitch moved forward, and blocked Aster's sight. He couldn't see anything for the large, dark cloak Pitch had on. His imagination promptly went to work, and while his rational mind knew Pitch either couldn't do half of what he was thinking of, or hadn't had the time to do the other half, his emotions didn't care.

A snowball hit Pitch in the side of the head.

Aster looked over, and gawked at the child. Eight or nine, he figured, running on temporary automatic. Brown hair, brown eyes, wrapped up in the current style of winter jacket and gloves. Forgot a hat and scarf, but it was warming up and probably felt balmy to the local humans. Accompanied by five others...

Five others who promptly went at Pitch with handfuls of snow.

The Nightmare King snarled and flinched away from the assault, and away from Jack. Aster paid the Boogieman little heed; his attention was focused on the children and on Jack. The kids were doing the smart thing, for the moment, alternating who was throwing a snowball and who was scooping up a handful for another weapon.

Jack was slowly, eyes bleeding red from the effort, pushing himself to his hands and knees, and from there, up onto his feet. He had his staff in one hand, and was bracing against the tree with his other hand, and his expression was one of jaw-clenched pain and determination.

Aster didn't think he'd ever loved Jack more than in this moment.

The werewolf staggered forward, and almost fell. Only his desperate grip on his staff kept him upright. Aster hadn't imagined seeing the day when Jack's strength wasn't enough, but...

_Damn_ Pitch and his sense of timing.

Belief was beginning to surge, now, power thrumming in his veins. _Easter, Easter, Easter,_ the power sang, in time with his heart. _Spring, spring, spring!_

Strength and speed and soon, but Pitch was looming over the children, they were dropping their snowballs and Jack was down on his knees, and there still wasn't enough -!

And one of the children looked around, desperation in his expression and stance, and screamed, "It's Easter! _Where's the Easter Bunny_?"

_Tipping point._

* * *

Jamie was afraid. Only more than just scared. Terrified. The Boogieman loomed over them, looking a hundred feet tall, and _oh no angry parent_ mixed with every warning about talking to strangers he'd ever gotten. Jack Frost had red eyes and furry ears and was growling like the Richardson's dog, before the city came and took it away because it'd bit Mrs. Mitchell. Cupcake looked big enough to grab him and shove him face first into the toilet.

The shadows were _moving_.

He looked around - no oh no oh no he'd _seen_ this horror movie and it didn't end good - and screamed. "It's Easter! _Where's the Easter Bunny_?"

Because the Easter Bunny protected them. Had to. Right?

If there was one thing Jamie believed in, right now, it was that. The Easter Bunny was _good_ and good people protected children!

There was a blur, a nasty crack-sound, and then the Boogieman was flying backwards like he'd been launched out of a cannon. Suddenly everything was normal again. Cupcake wasn't super-sized, Jack Frost was just a guy, the shadows were just shadows. A large, furry shape was standing between them and Pitch.

"The - the Easter Bunny?" Pippa asked.

The furry guy - the _Easter Bunny_ , how cool was that? - turned and grinned at them over his shoulder. "'lo there, Sheila." He stopped grinning and looked over at Jack Frost. "Think you lot can get my mate over there, to some shelter?" He waved at some bushes.

"Buh - Bunny?" Jack squinted up at the Easter Bunny. The light made his eyes look weird, or maybe it was the blood dribbling down from his mouth.

"Yeah, Jackie," the Easter Bunny said. Jamie swallowed around the lump in his throat. Last time he'd heard someone talk like that, Grampa had been talking about Dad, and the accident, and why mom was putting the house for sale so they could move to a single story.

There'd been an offer last week. Their new place had nice, wide doors for the wheelchair and was further from the school, but closer to Claude and Caleb. And Dad would be out of the hospital for good in a couple weeks.

Then the Easter Bunny turned and faced the Boogieman, and Jamie's memory of Grampa's talk went back into the locked closet. Jamie gestured to his friends, and they all shuffled over to Jack Frost. The guy looked bad, and jumped like a spooked cat when Jamie touched his shoulder.

"Wha...?"

"Must've hit his head," Claude pointed out.

"C'mon, we gotta get him to shelter, like the Easter Bunny said," Caleb added.

Jack Frost just looked confused, looking between them like - like he didn't know what was going on. "You can see me?" he asked. Maybe. He wasn't talking very clear, his words kept slurring together. Kinda like he was on the world's best painkillers, only the opposite, because he was clearly hurting.

"C'mon, Jack," Jamie said. He caught the guy around the elbow. "Let's get you over there. You can sit down."

Jack Frost looked bemused. "Sitting's good," he said, and then something Jamie couldn't make out.

And then he passed out.

* * *

Aster ignored the drama behind him, and focused on Pitch.

Belief was lightning in his veins, sparkles on his tongue, too much energy and not enough. Post-Easter, his usual routine was something like a solid week of katas and cleaning and manic sketching. Sometimes the sketches were even worth keeping, though usually after a month of no sleep and little food and more stress, the crazed energy of renewed belief didn't do him much good.

_This_ year, though...

He'd rested, Jack had seen to that. He'd eaten well, again, thanks to Jack. And belief was hitting him less like an eighteen wheeler at speed and more like a river he was boating on, going from tame and placid to wild and fierce. But he did have a boat, he was still in control, and he needed all the energy and more _right now_.

Pitch righted himself, using a tree and his Nightmare to brace against. "So," he said, clearly sneering even if all Aster could see was the man's chin. "You've recovered."

"Should've expected that. Easter. My time." And everything Jack had been doing. Aster flexed his fingers, and did a quick mental inventory.

No weaponry; if he'd had it when he'd shrunk, he'd have had it now. Of course, Pitch had taken everything, even his foot wraps, when he'd first been captured. Hopefully Pitch had investigated the anti-venom, it was meant for Pooka, not Tuatha... the rash would've been lovely to see.

The other bits and bobs in the medical kit would've been even more _interesting_. Heh, maybe that was why Pitch was wearing the cloak, either that or a few of the paint-bombs had gone off...

So, he was completely naked, stripped of even the minimum he wore for Easter prep and run. He was still a bit wobbly, getting used to his center of balance all over again. The energy of belief was making him feel shaky, like five shots of espresso on an empty stomach to a human.

Eh, could've been worse. Plenty of times, had been.

Pitch snarled, and drew a sword with one hand, a long dirk with the other. Aster cracked his neck in response.

Then, the Pooka charged right for Pitch, full speed and damn the metaphorical torpedoes.

Pitch was fast, training and natural Tuatha ability having long ago turned him into a hell of a swordsman.

Aster was faster.

He was Pooka, on a planet that was only half his homeworld's gravity. Yes, he'd adjusted. Yes, if he'd ended up back home, he'd have felt flattened and exhausted. Didn't make him as slow as the humans, or even the Tuatha.

He ducked a slash, dodged a stab, and landed a punch right into Pitch's side. Hit armour, plate by the feel of it, but it knocked Pitch into a tree.

Another thing about Pooka; dense bones and the muscle to move them. Aster couldn't hit full strength, not if he didn't want to break his hands, but a pulled blow for him was still harder than anything a Tuatha could pull off. A human might come near, with enough training. What were the heavyweight prize fighters landing, these days...?

Instinct and muscle memory kept him moving, as he bobbed and weaved between blade-strikes. He was fast enough to stay just out of the way, though not fast enough to avoid a few literal close shaves. He'd be growing those patches back, and he didn't know what he was going to do about the skin showing along his calf...

He managed to get behind Pitch, and caught hold of the cloak. Stupid thing, one hard _yank_ and -

And the ties snapped. Pitch was pulled off balance, not as much as Aster would've wanted. He ended up with what seemed like a few yards of black fabric in his hands. Someone gasped, sounded young.

Pitch spun on Aster, face twisted with fury and scars.

Aster flung the cloak to one side, and dove in the other direction. He landed on his shoulder, moving into a textbook roll, body moving on automatic to scoop up a palm-sized rock in one hand and get back up onto his feet, turning to look at the Boogieman while the mind was still stuck on the view.

Pitch's face was ruined. He'd had a kind of old-world nobility to him, the kind of profile that brought to mind Roman coins and whatnot. Not Aster's type, of course, but he could see how the former General had managed to get hitched when his culture had all been about the prettiest procreating. His looks weren't classic Tuatha, but they did catch the eye.

Now, though... ouch.

Jack had fought Pitch tooth and nail. Literally.

Aster forced himself to breathe through the sudden lurch in his gut. The scars weren't pretty. They were still red and a little puffy, and the obvious ruin of what had once been, at the very least, _striking_... The fact that he knew _Jack_ had been the one to bite and claw and tear and create that wreckage didn't exactly help. His imagination was sometimes a little _too_ good.

Pitch narrowed his eyes - well, one eye, the other was stuck in a permanent squint, now - and grinned. Maybe. His teeth were showing, yellowed and broken. "Still want to protect the winter spirit?" he asked.

Interesting... why call Jack a winter spirit, when the more worrying tag of "werewolf" was available?

Aster snorted, and settled into a ready stance. "Yield."

Pitch snarled, though the sound was made by weak, Tuathan vocal chords. Jack was scarier.

Then Pitch went on the attack, and Aster was just a little too busy to make any more comparisons.

* * *

_Horror movie to action. Today's turning out to be so cool!_ Well, mostly. Jamie looked down at Jack Frost. The twins had taken over once they'd moved him off to the side. Their mom was a doctor, they'd been given the "if someone's hurt and help's not there immediately, do this" lecture more times than Jamie had fingers and toes. They'd elevated Jack's feet, his head was on Pippa's lap, and Cupcake had only just been stopped from volunteering her jacket as a blanket.

Jack wasn't looking too good. The twins had stripped him of his sweater, and then Caleb had said something that would've gotten Jamie's mouth washed out with soap. Jack's ribs were... wrong looking. Kinda crumpled, and he was all scraped up and bleeding. Claude had created a pad for the scrapes with the sweater, while Caleb had listened to Jack's chest.

_Broken ribs and a punctured lung,_ was the inexpert diagnosis. And Jack was unconscious. Even Jamie knew that was a Bad Thing.

But during the course of the fight, the odd, gurgling wheeze in Jack's breathing had faded. Not gone, but it wasn't as bad as it had been. And there wasn't any more blood leaking from his mouth. That had to be good, right?

Except Jamie was pretty sure the wheezing had calmed down not because Jack was getting better, but because he wasn't breathing as much as he was supposed to.

And he couldn't do anything! Jamie clenched his hands into fists. This wasn't like sitting next to Dad's bedside had been. He hadn't been nearly as worried then! Sure, all the machines had been scary, and Dad had looked real bad, but there'd been all the doctors and nurses and that one apprentice doctor who'd taken the time to explain what each machine did, and what the monitors meant.

Jack didn't have any doctors or nurses or machines. Just a couple of kids who didn't know what they were doing, and couldn't get him to an adult anyways.

It was easier to watch the fight. It was pretty eye-catching. And Jamie could pretend the fluttering in his stomach was worry about the Easter Bunny, not worry over the way Jack had gone _way_ too quiet and still.

It was a good fight. Reminded him of the Jackie Chan movies Dad and him watched together, sometimes. The Easter Bunny was so fast he kinda went blurry, and he kept bounding around and over the Boogieman like an acrobat on fast forward. And like Jackie Chan, the Easter Bunny was fighting with martial arts.

Including a spinning backwards roundhouse kick-thing, right to the face!

Jamie and Cupcake grinned at each other. "Awesome," Cupcake declared.

"Yeah." Befriending Cupcake was one of the best things he could've done, Jamie decided. She was like Pippa. She knew what made a fight _cool_.

The Boogieman, though... Jamie shivered. He was scary. And he had two swords, or whatever that short, stabby thing was called. He only had to get lucky once. The Easter Bunny had to get lucky _all the time_ , just to keep from being hit. And then, hitting back? That had to be super hard.

He could do it, Jamie was sure of it. He was the Easter Bunny. And he'd already shown himself to be Jackie Chan's equal. But it was going to take him time, and he didn't think Jack had the time, and they needed something to stop the Boogieman _now_ , not an hour from now.

... A snowball might do it, but Jamie wasn't sure of his aim. If he missed, or hit the Easter Bunny...

"Pippa?" he said, eyeing the fight. They weren't too far away from their little group. "You've been practicing for baseball, right?"

* * *

Aster's foot came down on a loose stone, and Pitch opened a burning line across his shoulder. The cut wasn't deep, but it hurt, and it was going to limit him.

He dodged backwards, and threw the rock in his hand. He'd been using it to help with his punches. But as a distance weapon...

Pitch swayed out of the way, and snorted. Yeah, okay, throwing the rock hadn't done much. But it had bought him time.

Not just him. Pitch's head was knocked forwards, and a sudden spray of snow haloing the back of his head proved it.

Aster stared at the little girl, who had another snowball in hand, and wanted to bang his head off the nearest _tree_. No point in yelling at her, waste of time, Pitch was already turning to do - something - and he'd never been too good at focusing on one opponent in a fight, great for a general, not so great when facing a guy across swords -

He _felt_ Pitch's cheekbone shatter under his fist.

Pity the Tuatha could've given humans lessons in ignoring pain. Pitch was hardly slowed down. He hit the ground, twisted, and swept Aster's legs out from under him.

Aster rolled with his fall, but it wasn't as controlled as he'd like. He'd been stupid, hadn't done nearly enough katas, and his body was still convinced his center of balance was supposed to be half a foot off the ground!

It really, really wasn't.

Pitch smashed his sword hilt into Aster's muzzle.

No amount of training could prevent the automatic recoil, or the tears that immediately welled in his eyes. No matter how many times Aster got punched in the face, he was constantly surprised at how much it _hurt_.

He still managed to throw himself backwards. The sword sliced across his diaphragm, but didn't cut into muscle, just fur and skin.

Aster landed hard. He swiped at his eyes, and managed to squint through the last of the tears. He hurt; muzzle, chest, shoulder all throbbing in time with his pulse. Pooka didn't handle pain very well, though his training helped.

The child stood alone against Pitch, a snowball in hand and a scowl on her lips. She was pale, and shaking, but her stance was surprisingly solid, for such a young human.

Pitch loomed over her, and the shadows writhed as nightmare horses stalked out into the light. Aster muttered a curse, and got back up on his feet.

"Do you really think a snowball is going to help you?" Pitch asked, reaching for the girl.

She drew herself up, and grinned. "Nope. It's an ice-ball." And then she threw it.

Aster grinned, even as he charged at Pitch. Brave kid.

* * *

Jamie threw himself down over Jack, and realized his dad was right. Girls were crazy! Pippa and her chunk of ice, Cupcake and her tree branch - crazy!

"Another one - whoa!" Claude turned to stare at Cupcake. "Nice hit!"

"Go out for baseball," Caleb added. "Home run every time!"

Cupcake snarled, and whacked another dark shape across the face. Maybe the face. Hard to tell. "Jamie, Monty, you okay?"

Monty nodded, and pulled a tree branch up for Pippa. She came sliding into their little shelter like it was home base, and narrowly missed hitting Jack. She was pale and shaking, but grinning.

"You're nuts," Jamie told her.

Cupcake smashed down another shadow-thing. Jamie checked on Jack, who wasn't doing any better. No worse, but no better. "We need a plan," he muttered.

"Hitting the bad guys is a plan." Cupcake paused in the smashing, because the shadow-things were keeping their distance, and switched hands. "It's a good plan."

Monty shook his head. "We're kids. We're -"

"Buying time," Jamie pointed out. "The Easter Bunny's here. There's gotta be others who protect us kids. We just have to wait."

He peered out past Cupcake, and blinked at the rolling ball of fighting. The Easter Bunny had stopped flipping around like Jackie Chan, and gone for doing his best to punch the Boogieman's head in. The Boogieman was fighting back, but he'd lost his swords, and so it was just a lot of... well, brawling. Kinda like Caleb and Claude when they were annoyed, just... nastier.

The brawl stopped when the Easter Bunny ended up on his back. The Boogieman lunged for him, and the Easter Bunny kicked up into the Boogieman's chest, and then...

Well, like Aunt Cathy liked to say, "take off was great, landing was poor."

The Easter Bunny rolled over onto all fours, and stayed like that, all crouched over like a big cat. Jamie shivered, once, and looked around.

There weren't too many of the little shadow-things. And the ones that were left seemed to be avoiding Cupcake. That was good. But there were a bunch of bigger shapes, dark and gritty looking, with bright yellow eyes.

One of the big shadow-things locked gazes with him.

And then charged.

Jamie yelled, and flung himself down over Jack again. He could still see the thing running at him, though.

Cupcake shrilled something, her voice high and excited, and threw her stick away.

Then she leapt into the charging shadow-things path, and grabbed it about the neck.

Jamie... wasn't too sure what happened next. Not because he clenched his eyes shut or anything! Sure, he kinda figured Cupcake was going to get trampled, but it was _Cupcake_ , She Who Fought Bullies. For _fun_. No, his eyes just... refused to focus, was all.

Which was kind of a shame, because when he peeked to see Cupcake's fate and figure out why he wasn't trampled, the large shadow-thing was gone.

A bright, golden _unicorn_ was in its place.

Monty cleared his throat. "Did Cupcake just beat that monster by screaming 'horsie' and touching it?"

"... Yeah," Jamie admitted.

"... Okay then."

* * *

Aster squinted at the unicorn, then at the girl clinging to it, and then checked on Pitch. The Nightmare King had his swords back, and was advancing on the unicorn with menace and mayhem in mind, apparently.

It was tempting to sit back and let someone else take over. He hurt. Rush of energy from renewed belief or not, he was _tired_. And things were clearly well in hand.

It just felt so... _sloppy_.

He shoved back up onto his feet, and rolled his shoulders. The cut one still hurt, but at least it wasn't bleeding anymore. The damage had been done, his fur was all matted and clumped together and crusty with dried blood, but at least the leak had been sealed. As had his chest, though it looked worse. Blood and white fur, bad combination.

"Pitch!" Aster began to saunter towards Pitch, who - of course - stopped and turned to look at the new distraction.

"I'm winning," the deranged lunatic hissed, sword pointed at Aster. The Pooka stopped, but only because at this distance, he'd be punching Pitch in the face before the Tuatha could blink. "I'll kill you and then I've won!"

Really, it was perfect timing for the dreamsand to circle the clearing and catch up the last of the nightmares. Was it corruption or purification, Aster wondered, as the nightmares turned gold, unicorns and pegasi tossing their manes and pawing at the sky.

Pitch screamed in rage. Aster sighed, and punched him, if only to shut him up.

Then he turned and frowned at Sandy, who looked far too gleeful for someone who'd gotten out of the work the past few months by faking sleep. "What took you so long?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kicked. my. butt. Ten pages and over 4000 words, pretty much pure fight scene. I like fights. Don't get me wrong, they're awesome to read, great to watch in movies... and hard to write, because who did what and where are they injured and how will that affect things after this and... ugh. Anyways. Short fight scenes are fun. Entire chapters of it? It wasn't supposed to be this long, either...


	24. Chapter 24

It was like waking up that first night a spirit. It was cold, and dark, and his wolf was silent. He couldn't feel anything. Jack was alone.

And then, as slow as glacial melt, things began to come back. Touch, first; the faint scratch of hospital bedding underneath him. The cooler temperature of the air, the soft cotton blanket draped over him. The hand, warm and dwarfing even his own in size, covering his.

Sound came next. The gentle crinkle of the bedding as he breathed, the equally quiet sound of someone breathing almost in sync with him. The susurration of the clockwork fans that swung back and forth from the ceiling. Further away he heard people talking, their voices indistinct, gibberish, and further than that was a rhythmic _thump-thump_ he recognized as a hammer against hot iron.

He smelt something crisp, not quite antiseptic. It wasn't mint, it wasn't disinfectant. He probably should have felt ashamed at how long it took him to realize he was smelling snow, but... in his defence... he was just so tired. But there were other scents teasing his nose, the scent of chicken soup and the scent of those aloe plants the yeti kept on hand... And one other scent, that brought to mind fur and warm earth, flowers and a hint of musk.

There was something about that scent.

But no, no, he was so tired...

It couldn't be said that he fell asleep. He never woke up. He drifted, timeless, unaware of what was around him.

He rose back to consciousness again, slow and silent, unable to open his eyes and entirely content with that fact. A warm hand over his, a scent of living earth and musk, a soft blanket and nothing to do, nowhere to be.

An exhausted wolf curled at the back of his mind. Jack reclined against Silver. It wasn't as comfortable as it normally was; the wolf was thin, his fur sparse and stretched over his ribs and jutting hipbones. It had been a hard year, Jack acknowledged, and now they were paying for it.

Silver sigh-grumbled at him, pleased for the moment to stay where they were. The lack of sight didn't bother the wolf, no more than their inability to move. Silver seemed to feel it was safe, and that was good enough for Jack.

They drifted again, and again regained something like consciousness. They didn't want to move, but now, they sensed that if they pushed, they could. If they wanted to. Which they didn't. It was just so nice to hold still, cradled in a strong arm, the scent of earth and flowers and musk all around them. A spoon was pressed to his lips, and he sipped at the broth, warm and salty and flavoured with meat and herbs. His stomach growled, hunger woken, and he took another spoonful of broth with weary eagerness.

When had they last been cared for like this? Silver couldn't remember. Jack, though, had a hazy memory of pain, and large, gentle hands, a tearing loss like nothing he'd ever felt before, and a father's need holding him to life. He couldn't remember if his mother had ever held him. Grace never had.

Werewolves didn't get sick. And men were supposed to be strong, not succumb to emotional weakness.

This, though. A - it wasn't a thought, not really - an impression of _knowing_ drifted through him. He knew where he was, he knew who was holding him. He just didn't need that knowledge at the front of his mind.

They drifted again, in gentle darkness, as soft as good velvet and as gentle as thistledown on the cheek. They were never alone; as their moments of awareness came more frequently, they realized how constant the company was. Always, there was a hand over their own, or they were cradled in a strong arm as they were fed broth and tea.

Sometimes there was a voice, low and deep, making them want to purr and snuggle against the source.

Sometimes there were other voices, and those voices annoyed them. Silver wanted to growl and show his teeth, and Jack wanted to ice things when he heard those voices. There was nothing wrong with them, just... no. Not now. Not when they were so tired, not when they could finally rest. Not when they were safe, and content for the first time in... oh, so long a time.

But finally, their comfort in inactivity, in merely drifting, began to turn to irritation. The wolf began to flex, ready to prowl their territory. The man, too, wanted to _do_ things. This was all very restful, but it was _boring_.

And neither of them could stand being _bored_.

* * *

Jack groaned, and forced one eye open. And immediately clenched it shut. That was... way too bright. Way, way too bright. Painfully bright.

Something clattered, and the light level dropped. He risked cracking his eye open again - the other, since the first had been hurt enough - and relaxed. That was better. Good enough, in fact, he opened both eyes and blinked until they started focusing again.

He was... staring at a ceiling. How utterly _dull_.

Jack blinked, and looked around as much as he could without turning his head. Ceiling, ceiling, bland ceiling, top of the wall where it met the ceiling... He'd woken up for this?

_"Turn head,"_ Silver prompted.

Yeah, yeah... To the left, there was... a wall. Great, he was in a corner. Actually, that kind of was, since it seemed the wall was on the outside. It was just a touch colder than the rest of the room would be. Good for him, not that he really cared what temperature it was out. Still, with his powers... But all that said, it was still a very bland wall.

Back up at the ceiling, and then, to his right...

Jack's eyes widened, and he licked his lips. His mouth and throat weren't bone dry - right, someone had been feeding him - but it certainly felt like it. Shock could do that, he supposed.

"Bunny?"

Okay, so, quiet voice, very raspy, hardly the end of the world. Especially not when Bunny smiled like that, and helped him sit up. Or when Bunny continued to smile, and held up a cup of water, a straw angled to Jack's lips.

"Yeah, mate," Bunny said, while Jack took careful sips. Oh, it was so good. The water, and listening to Bunny's voice.

He finished the water, and watched Bunny put the cup on the side table. Even Silver had to admit, watching that graceful rabbit twist and flex like that... it was nice.

When, exactly, had they gone from thinking Bunny was cute when he was all fluffy and cranky, to thinking he was mouth-wateringly attractive?

_"When we found out there was a puppy,"_ Silver offered, sounding amused. _"Puppies are deal breakers."_

Jack mentally snorted. _"Baby rabbits are kits, I think. Or puggles?"_

_"... That is dog breed. How...?"_

He ignored the wolf. "What're you doing here?"

Bunny reached over and smoothed out Jack's hair. Jack swallowed down a squeaky, happy sound. Bunny was petting him!

... His hair was probably all gross and tangled and greasy and oh no, why was Bunny still touching him? He stank of sweat and _no_....

"Taking care of you, ya goober." Bunny stopped stroking Jack's (sweaty, greasy, tangled, icky) hair and leaned back in his chair. "You've been out a week. Was starting to worry. Normally you heal faster than this."

The wolf snorted. Jack frowned, but decided to set aside the whole question of how Bunny knew he could heal quickly. Joey was talking - he remembered that, right? - so the cute little baby bun had probably told him. Or something.

"Normally I'm not exhausted." Well, actually... never mind. "Guess you know about this past year, huh?"

Bunny smiled, and took Jack's hand in both of his. "You were amazing." The rabbit looked at Jack's hand, then up at the werewolf's face, looking almost... bashful. A smile played at the corners of his mouth. "Two jobs every night, fighting the Nightmares, North's holiday and mine... You just do not quit, do you?"

"Stubbornness issues," Jack managed, while his insides turned into rose-tinted mush. He'd impressed Bunny. He'd saved the day and impressed Bunny. This was... very good. Amazing.

Bunny grinned, and looked down. "Y'know, back when this all started..."

Jack squeezed Bunny's hand. "Yeah?"

"When we got the message that Pitch was messing about, and the moon picked you for the next Guardian. I said... I said Jack Frost wasn't Guardian material."

He'd said that?

"I was wrong." Bunny looked up again, and cupped Jack's cheek with one hand. The werewolf's skin tingled. And the expression in Bunny's eyes, it was... not one he'd seen before. Directed at him. Ever.

"You are very much Guardian material. More, you're just... amazing."

Jack blinked, and realized the warmth in his cheeks was a blush. He was blushing. "I think you're giving me too much credit," he stammered. Blushing! Him! Time to smother himself with a pillow, Bunny probably wouldn't mind...

"I think I'm not giving you enough." Bunny chuckled, and rubbed his thumb in circles over the back of Jack's hand. It was very distracting. "You took on Pitch," the rabbit continued, his voice deepening to something very near to a purr. "And you won."

Was he trying to sound sultry? Because it was kinda working.

But... Jack frowned. "No, I got rescued by a bunch of kids," he said.

Bunny waved it off. "After Easter. I meant before Christmas. When Pitch was glutted on fear..." Another caress of his thumb. Jack was never washing that hand again. "And you still beat him. You are one powerful bloke, Jack Frost. I'm glad you're on our side."

And now the heat had moved to cover his entire face. This was uncomfortable. "I - someone had to - anyone would've -"

" _Anyone_ didn't," Bunny said. " _You_ did."

Jack tore his gaze from Bunny's expression, and stared up at the ceiling. "So. A week. What'd I miss?"

He heard the rabbit chuckle, and it was a nice sound, it was, but his face felt hot. He could probably fry an egg with his forehead. A couple of minutes filling him in, he'd be able to calm down and deal with Bunny being... being a flirt, that's what! Jack had seen Bunny angry, annoyed, grumpy, he'd seen the rabbit do his best to look like a badass when he was really a fluffy, cute rabbit. He'd never seen Bunny look flirty and impressed.

"Well," Bunny said, and Jack glanced over at him. "How about I go chronologically, after you left the Workshop that time?"

Jack licked his lips. "That sounds good."

... Did the rabbit actually caress his thigh?

Jack decided he'd hallucinated that.

"Long story short, we got caught by Pitch." Bunny paused, and scowled at the wall. "Right nasty arse he is... Anyways. North and Tooth were set in a nightmare they couldn't wake up from. Entire year. It only broke after Easter, when Sandy headed down into Pitch's lair, cleaned the place up. Tooth went to work sorting out the recovered teeth, and the ones you'd collected, but..."

He sighed. "She's having a rough go of it. Even Tooth needs to sleep, and she can't. Sandy brought her in a couple days ago, he's tending both of 'em personal-like. It seems to be helping, now."

Jack huffed, and then raised his eyebrows. "Would Pitch's severed head make her feel better?"

Bunny smirked, and looked at him from under his eyelashes. "You think bloody, don't you, mate?"

"Uh. Sorry?"

"Don't be," the Easter Bunny purred. "It's charming, directed at the bad guys."

Jack swallowed. "I'll keep that in mind."

Bunny smiled again, and let go of Jack's hand. He propped his elbows on the edge of the mattress, and his chin on his hands, and he just kept _smiling_.

Jack's scalp crawled. The skin under his armpits and down his back itched. He must have smelt disgusting and looked worse, why was Bunny _smiling_ at him? "What?"

"You," Bunny said, and looked fond. Fond! "You are something else." And then he sighed.

Silver peeked out from behind Jack's eyes, as intrigued and disturbed by the rabbit's interest as Jack was. Bunny normally yelled at them, and it was adorable. Now he was flirting, and that was a good sign for them, but it was strange.

"What about you?" Silver asked. Jack quickly regained control over his vocal chords, and cleared his throat.

Bunny wrinkled his nose. "What - oh, right. Sandy and me."

"Yes." Jack swallowed, and reached for Bunny's hand. The rabbit looked pleased, which was better than brooding, but now Jack was holding Bunny's hand. He wasn't... quite... sure what to do. Did he lace their fingers together? And if so, how? Bunny had fewer finger than Jack, it'd just be awkward... Right?

Silver shrugged in the back of their mind. How was he to know? He was a wolf. He wanted to kill things, but he doubted Bunny would appreciate that.

Well, maybe if he killed Pitch...

"I want to know what happened to you. And Sandy," Jack added. It wasn't like the Sandman had ever done them _wrong_ , after all. He just wasn't tall and fluffy and adorable and... staring at him like, uh, _that_. Like Bunny was. Right now.

Bunny smiled, and looked down again, only to glance up, _again_ , at Jack. "Sandy's easier," he admitted. "It's easy to forget, but the dreamsand _is_ his body. Part of it, anyways." Bunny shrugged. "He said it was like human hair. Or spaghetti."

Jack blinked. "Spaghetti?"

"I was working off pictograms and it was yonks earlier, I didn't have as good an understanding then. But the dreamsand's what's left of the shooting star he used to pilot. And stars, pilots, they had a weird... relationship."

"There are..." Jack paused, and licked his lips. And ignored the way Bunny stared at his mouth when he did. "There are so many things you just said, that science says is _so_ wrong..."

Bunny huffed, but he sounded amused. "I'm aware. Then again, science would say werewolves and frost sprites are illogical and wrong, and yet..."

Silver curled his upper lip. "Winter Herald," he corrected. "Not frost sprite. Sprites are dumb." He paused, and added, "Crunchy, though."

Bunny stared at him. "You... eat sprites?"

Jack held up one hand, thumb and forefinger about two inches apart. "They're tiny. They look like dragonflies, actually, only made out of ice. Dumber than a buttered brick, tend to brain themselves on, uh, everything." Trees, walls, the ground...

"Oh." Bunny blinked, and shook himself. "Ah. Uh, alright then. I, uh, I guess that doesn't harm anyone."

"The frost sprites don't notice," Jack assured him. "They aren't... alive. Well, they are, but it's like a plant's alive. And it might be part of their lifecycle, getting eaten, I don't know."

The rabbit smiled, nodded, and looked away, towards what Jack presumed was a window. He couldn't tell, the angle was wrong. "Right, well. Uh, like I said, the dreamsand is part of Sandy, however it is, and when Pitch started stealing it and corrupting it into nightmare sand -"

"Wouldn't Sandy notice?"

"Would you notice your hair getting cut?"

Jack reached up and fingered a lock of hair. "Maybe?"

"Sandy's got a lot of dreamsand to keep track of. I figure it is like human hair, to him, so he never noticed a little... trimming of the ends, at least not until Pitch took a great big whack off. And then he... somehow became part of the sand? After it was corrupted?" Bunny made a face. "I think?"

"How would _that_...?"

"I have no idea. Star pilots were lone wolves before things... happened, and Sandy's still never been too clear on how things work with him. Not that he can, really," Bunny added. "He can't talk, at least not in ways humans, or Pooka, can hear."

Jack frowned. "Pooka?"

"Oh." Bunny's ears drooped, and not in Joey's relaxed way. "Ah, my species. There's not... I'm, uh, everyone else..."

"It's fine." He could fill in the blanks more than well enough. "I'm sorry."

It almost made sense. Bunny and Joey weren't really rabbits, or even rabbit spirits. Too many differences, all of them small and subtle right up until you put them together, at which point the differences made a very large hammer.

Or something. Jack was well aware his analogy needed a lot of work, but still. Point was made.

_"Who are you making point to?"_ Silver asked, curious.

_"You never know."_

"Well." Bunny looked up, and smiled. "From what I could figure out, what Sandy said, he was part of the Nightmare sand and unable to get free until you started doing your thing, turning the Nightmares back. He _says_ he wasn't strong enough to help until just after Easter." From the look on Bunny's face, the rabbit - no, the _Pooka_ \- didn't quite believe that, but wasn't about to challenge his friend's claim.

"It's... possible," Jack offered. "I mean, just because his body was free, doesn't mean his mind was. Right?"

"I guess..." Bunny huffed, and this time, it didn't sound amused. "Annoying, though, since... well, you were wearing yourself to the bone, and if he'd been able to help out those past few months, maybe you wouldn't have been so tired after Easter..." He paused, and swallowed. "Your ribs were broken, and your spine... Couple vertebrae cracked. Disks swelled up, figured we'd have to learn advanced surgery... Dunno how your werewolf healing managed it, Jack. But I'm glad it did."

Jack blinked, and then found himself holding Bunny's hands between his own. "Hey," he said, and almost blinked at how... soft and gentle he sounded "It's okay. I'm fine now, I'm going to stay fine. Werewolf healing can handle just about anything up to drowning and decapitation, and I can't drown anymore. Long as I have enough food and a safe spot to recover, nothing'll keep me down for long. I can even regrow toes and fingers."

Bunny scowled. "And how do you know that?"

"Couple mortal werewolves I was watching," Jack admitted. "He was a tree cutter. Axe slipped, he lost the foot... they had to move earlier than expected, because it started growing back. And a couple other idiots got frostbite and lost fingers and toes, grew them back. That one's from watching, not doing. Promise."

"Well." Bunny relaxed. "Alright then. As long as it wasn't you losing fingers and toes there..."

"I did lose a couple teeth?" Jack shrugged. "They grew right back."

"... Let's not tell Tooth. She'd probably cry."

Good point.

Jack realized he was staring into Bunny's eyes a full two minutes too late, which meant that amused smile Bunny had was at him, for being such a... such an emotional sap. He cleared his throat and looked away, and then let go of Bunny's hands.

Stupid, Jack... stupid.

"Well," Bunny said, sounding disappointed. "That's North, Tooth, and Sandy... Me, I'm different."

Jack looked up. "Different how?"

"Pooka." Bunny smiled, but it wasn't happy. "I'm immune to Pitch's powers and I can't be absorbed into dreamsand - or Nightmare sand, really - like Sandy. No continual nightmare for me, no... All he could do was physical."

Physical - "He hurt you?" Jack sat up, heart pounding and Silver... quiet. Dangerously quiet. Ready to leap from their bed, hunt Pitch down, and tear him into many, many pieces. Tiny ones. Bit by _bleeding_ bit. "He - do you need a medic? Where's a medic?"

"No, no..." Bunny rested one hand on Jack's shoulder, another on Jack's chest. "No, nothing like that. I'm sure he'd have gotten around to it eventually, but first he had to gloat. No, he just took my dags -"

"You're what?"

"Ah, my stuff, what passes for clothes during Easter prep, and the run."

Jack blinked, momentarily distracted. "You normally wear clothes?" What kind? What did Bunny look like in them? And why would he cover up that sleek, lean body...? Wait, Bunny was talking, focus.

"Yes, I normally wear clothes, you galah." Bunny smiled, though, so he couldn't be too annoyed. "I am a civilized being, thank you, from a civilized culture. Can't tattoo - least not that would show - and can't tell gender from a look-see, so we needed another way to announce things. Like rank, and marital status, and what have you. Signs around our necks were considered too bulky."

Jack snickered, and then eyed Bunny. "Did you just make a joke?"

"'Course not. I've got no sense of humour, ask anyone."

Silver blinked, and backed away, confused. Jack just rolled his eyes. Poor wolf, that had been a marvellous deadpan. "Sure you don't. So... you wear clothes, most of the time."

Bunny smirked at him. "Ask nice and I might show you."

"... Tempting offer... But you were saying? You're sure you're okay?" Jack hesitated, and then touched the back of Bunny's hand. "Because I'll happily tear Pitch limb from limb, if you want."

"Charming as that offer is," Bunny said, and quickly caught Jack's hands. He was holding hands with Bunny again. This was going to make it very difficult to bathe later, since he didn't want to get his hands wet. "No. I really am fine. I was stuck in a cage and had to listen to him blither, but -"

"Ah! I see our Aurora has woken!"

Jack about jumped out of his skin, and it was no comfort that Bunny had actually fallen off his chair. Breathing. He should breathe. It seemed important.

"North!" Bunny snarled, whirling on the Santa Claus. "What the hell, don't you ever knock?"

"My infirmary," North pointed out. He looked... alive, and that was about it. His skin was a charming cross between exhausted gray and sallow, and the bags under his eyes could have hidden the entire Russian Ballet. His clothes hung on him, not enough flesh to fill them out, so he looked shorter, smaller. And his smile never reached his eyes.

All that said, Jack would have happily have thrown him out the window, for interrupting. Besides, "Aurora?" he asked.

"What, you don't know Disney? Sleeping Beauty!"

Sleeping - "I'm not pregnant!"

Bunny and North stared at him. Jack blushed again. "The original story, she didn't wake up until she'd given birth. And I'm not... Besides, I'm not French!"

Bunny tilted his head. "Actually, I think the idea started in Spain? Fourteenth century or something."

"Well I'm not Spanish, either!"

North waved it off, and clapped Bunny on the shoulder. "Never mind. You are awake and this is what matters. Jack Frost! You have charmed my wife very much, should I be worried?"

Jack shuddered, and couldn't help but glance at Bunny. North, unfortunately, followed his gaze.

"Oh-hoh, so that is where the wind is blowing, hm? Well, it is very good Bunny spent so much time with you, yes?"

Bunny looked... panicked. Suddenly. Jack narrowed his eyes. Why would Bunny look panicked? "He spent... time with me? When?" This past week? He'd been _unconscious_.

North shook his head. "Entire past year. As _Joey_. Larisa laughed and laughed when I told her. She thought Bunny had child. So funny!"

* * *

Jack's expression went blank, as though he'd been carved from marble. Or ice. "Funny?" he repeated, sounding - just as blank as his expression. No emotion. No inflection. _Nothing_.

Aster's heart was in his throat, and his mouth was so dry he couldn't even squeak. Might as well have been mute all over again, for all the good his vocal chords were doing.

Silence was the wrong response, but it was the only one he could make. As the seconds dragged on and he didn't speak, Jack began to show... something. His eyebrows drew together, shadowing his eyes. They blazed, brilliant blue in the shadows, pupils shrunk to pinpricks. His upper lip curled, showing brilliant white teeth. His nose wrinkled, nostrils flaring.

Aster _still_ couldn't say anything. Couldn't move, could barely _breathe_.

Jack glared at him, and then left. He got up, thin as a stick and shaky on his feet, found his staff where it'd been propped against the wall next to the window. Pushed the window open and stepped outside, and then - gone.

Just gone.

Aster slumped over in the chair, face in his hands, and shook.

Jack was gone. He was gone, and Aster hadn't told him... _North_ had told him but Aster hadn't been able to talk, _explain_ , to -

Jack was gone.

* * *

Tooth pressed a glass of sherry into his hand. " _Talk_ to us, Bunny," she urged.

"Wot's there to say?" He turned the glass around and around in his hands. "He's gone. Thanks to North, he hates me. He's gotta. He'll - he'll figure I didn't tell him because I was spying, or something."

Sandy looked doubtful, and quickly signed a protest. Aster ignored him. Mostly.

"Who spent a year with him? Jack's not the trusting sort. Having it dropped on him like that?" He shook his head, and then downed the sherry as quickly as he could. It was a full twelve ounces of North's finest sherry, on an empty stomach. He could feel the soporific effects start almost immediately.

"I'm sure he doesn't hate you." Tooth patted his shoulder, and then pulled back, wings twitching. "Are you going after him?"

Aster squinted up at her. "'Course I am," he slurred. Wait, had she added - what had she added? Cough syrup? "You drugged me!"

Tooth snickered, and hung back while Sandy used his sand to pick Aster up and lay him out on the couch. Damn the man, Sandy knew Aster hated when he did that. The sand got all in Aster's fur and itched, and took forever to get out.

"You haven't slept for a week," Tooth pointed out. "I know you can go longer than that, but if you're going after Jack, you should rest first. He's exhausted too. Sleep, Bunny, you'll find him easier if you're at the top of your game."

Aster tried to tell her that Jack was stubborn, that a little thing like being just this side of starving, and still healing, wasn't going to stop the werewolf from going to ground and never being found again. But his tongue wouldn't form the words.

The last thing he saw was Sandy preparing a ball of dreamsand.

His last thought was that North, soon as he'd recovered from the year-long nightmare, was going to _die_.

At that, E. Aster Bunnymund slept. He'd hunt for Jack in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a slight delay in the next story, called "Hungry Like The Wolf", because I need to write the chapters. So fun, aye? -grin-

**Author's Note:**

> Angry Jack is angry and happy to go on the attack. Is he completely right in what he's saying? No... but he's not entirely wrong, either.


End file.
